The Case of Orion's Belt
by Sandylee007
Summary: A woman's death brings together two men who have been struggling to suppress the most painful memories of their lives. Whatever their connection to her was her fate changed both Dr. Spencer Reid and Sherlock Holmes profoundly. Will the bind that ties the three of them lead to their demise as well?
1. The Sign of Three

A/N: Okay, so… I was supposed to focus on another project but then this idea struck me like a thunderball. I was powerless to stop it from being typed out so here we are. (smirks sheepishly)

WARNING: CROSSOVER. Adult themes. Gore. Language. Possible whump coming up later. Rather descriptive violence and crimes. (looks around) Where'd ya go?

DISCLAIMER: I really, seriously own nothing of 'Criminal Minds' or 'Sherlock'. You'd hear of it if I ever did because on that day I'd be flying with joy.

Awkay, because it's getting really late and I'm quite nervous right now… Let's move! I truly hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

**_The Case of Orion's Belt_**

* * *

The Sign of Three

* * *

/ _It was a warm and dark yet extremely beautiful summer night. Three children, a boy and a girl at the age of eight and a boy at the age of fifteen, lay on soft grass, their eyes darted towards the sky above them. It was full of stars and for the longest time they were all so captivated that they didn't speak a word._

_In the end the girl frowned, then pointed towards three stars that seemed to shine brighter than the rest. Or maybe it was just her child's imagination. "What's that called?"_

_"It's Orion's Belt", the oldest one of them informed instantly. The British accent was deep and rich. A long, elegant musician's finger rose to point upwards. __"Alnitak, Alnilam and Mintaka. __That's the name of the stars."_

_The girl smiled. "Three of them. Just like us."_

_The younger boy, who'd been worryingly quiet all evening, sighed. Longing appeared to the hazel eyes. "I wish that we didn't have to go back home in four days", he confessed in a silent, sad tone. "I wanna stay here, with you."_

_The girl giggled, ruffling the worried child's brown locks. "Don't be silly. We'll be friends forever. Just like those stars."_

_The brown haired boy mulled over the thought for a while. In the end a bright smile appeared. "I like that thought."_

_The older boy nodded in affirmation, wild black locks dancing. "Yeah. So do I."_ /

* * *

It was raining while a BAU team approached a crime scene at a more isolated part of the city centre of Colorado Springs. The local police had done what they could and several members of crime scene unit were already there but the weather was quickly washing away whatever little evidence there may have been. The killer had chosen the perfect time to strike.

They were about twenty steps away when they were spotted. At first the chief of police, a large middle aged man whose face suggested that he'd been through a tough life named Rick Stamson, squinted his pale blue eyes against the rain before straightening his nearly two meters tall frame and began to make his way to them. "Sorry about this", the chief apologized earnestly, a thick accent that was hard to place evident in his speech. He ran a noteably sized, scarred hand through shortcut, dark drown hair. "I know that you were already about to head home but I wanted to hear what you'd think about this."

Unit chief Aaron Hotchner stepped forward, a instinctive touch of authority in his steps. There was a frown on the agent's face. "What made you think so?"

Chief Stamson swallowed loudly. Even in the lack of light the man's face appeared suspiciously pale. "Just… Just come and see, will you?" As though out of mutual agreement they all began to move towards a smaller street. Chief Stamson, who must've seen a lot during his long career, shook his head, shoulders slumping noticeably under a weight the agents knew entirely too well. "The nightmare you just solved, and now this… I don't understand what the hell is going on in my city anymore."

That was when the team first truly saw it. They all froze, smacked by a yet another horror story presented to them. "Shit…", slipped through the lips of Derek Morgan. The rest of them agreed whole heartedly.

There on the street lay a strikingly beautiful woman in her early thirties or late twenties, her arms wide open and the gaze of her dead, glazed over blue eyes lifted towards the sky. Only the trickle of blood running from her nose tainted the white, porcelain color of her face. Wind and rain played with her long, blood stained blonde hair and white night dress. Her lips were still parted slightly, as though for a prayer that'd never be heard. It hadn't stopped the five, perfectly evenly placed stab wounds on her chest and abdomen that claimed her life. The whole sight was so perfect in its own macabre way that the group of professionals couldn't help feeling that it was staged. The only things tainting the image were the bruises and a couple of nails that'd almost been torn off.

"She put up one hell of a fight and the neighbors… They heard struggle", chief Stamson explained, a sickened look on his face. "By the time my men got here… Well."

A sombre silence lingered, only disturbed by the rain and the forensics team's members bustling around them. In the end David Rossi sighed. "This is a brutal murder. But what makes you think that you'll need the FBI?"

"I was kind of expecting you to ask that." Chief Stamson nodded towards something on the street. His face seemed even more grim than before. "That's why."

The team looked. Instantly chills went through them. There, almost washed away by the rain but still visible, were three words. Written in the victim's blood.

_TWO MORE LEFT_

Chief Stamson gritted his teeth. "I may not be a profiler, but… This sick bastard's already killed at least once. And if we don't stop him in time there'll be two more bodies."

Without the others noticing one member of the team was reacting particularly strongly to the sickening display before them. Dr. Spencer Reid's face had lost absolutely all color and small, barely visible tremors went through his whole body. He took a unsteady, hesitant step closer, then another.

Alarmed by his movements Derek turned his head and frowned. "Reid? Are you okay?"

No, Spencer wasn't. His eyes were wide and wild, full of moisture, while he stared at the dead woman. "I… I know her", he choked out in a voice that nearly got lost to the wind.

"I know her."

* * *

Night had claimed London hours ago but a city of that size never truly went to sleep. And there, amongst the restless beat, 221B Baker Street was bustling with life. The furious, anxious notes of a violin were nearly enough to cover the sounds of a very questionable scientific experiment that was hissing and boiling in the kitchen.

Until all of a sudden a pair of stunning eyes that in the lack of light seemed nearly black flew open. Exactly two seconds later a cell phone began to ring. The musician knew what it meant.

A case.

With a elegant, fluent motion the world's only consulting detective Sherlock Holmes set down the violin, then grabbed his phone. He frowned at the number before picking up. "Didn't we make a clear deal not to contact each other?"

It was impossible to recognize the sound coming from the other end. "_It's… It's Alyssa._" Spencer's voice was barely recognizeable, not least of all because they were mere kids when he last heard it. It was colored by grief, rage, shock and fear. "_She's dead._"

Cold shivers, such that nearly caught his breath, went through Sherlock. He refused to let the betrayal of his transport show in his voice. "She died years ago", he growled, despite his best efforts of remaining emotionless sounding like a wounded beast.

"_I… I know. Or that's what I though. But I just saw her body in Colorado Springs, and…_" There was a long moment of silence. Was that a restrained sob? "_He found her._"

Sherlock actually shuddered. He wasted a couple of precious seconds on trying to regain control over himself. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"_William, no, don't…!_"

But Sherlock had already hang up. Instead of listening he was dialing a familiar number. It took obnoxiously long before a very sleepy, very grumpy voice answered. "_Sherlock…?_"

Sherlock paced around the room, feeling like a caged wild animal. His thoughts were running madly and his pulse was clearly elevated. Which was nothing unusual when a new puzzle was presented to him but this particular one… "We have a case", he announced.

"_Sherlock, it's… three o'clock in the bloody morning!_" Dr. John Watson clearly didn't sound pleased or even remotely coherent. Somewhere in the background Mary Watson muttered something that sounded suspiciously lot like '_… not again!… _' "_What…?_"

"You have fifteen minutes to pack up for a trip to Colorado Springs."

"_Hang on, hang on…_" He could hear John rubbing his face, trying to wake up. "_You mean the Colorado in…?_"

"… the United States of America, yes. Do try to keep up." Sherlock tapped with his foot, irritation and a stab of unfamiliar sentiment that he was far from comfortable with making him antsy. He squinted his eyes against the stinging that attempted to take over them. "John, it's vital that we depart as soon as possible. So start packing."

* * *

TBC OR NOT?

* * *

A/N: So… Thus starts a brand new story. And now, it's time to ask your opinion. Do you think that this is worth continuing or should I just bury this while it hasn't really began yet? You know how to let me know. (grins and winks)

In any case, thank you so much for reading! Who knows, maybe I'll be seeing you around.

Take care!


	2. The Return of Alyssa Stiles

A/N: Yup, the new chapter is here! (grins)

First of all, though, GOSH! There's so many of you who want to see this story continue. (BEAMS) Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for your reviews, listings and reading! I had my doubts about starting another crossover story so you're making me feel all warm and fuzzy.

Awkay, because stalling is never kind… Let's roll! I truly hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

The Return of Alyssa Stiles

* * *

/ _Detective Damian Ennis, age thirty three, prepared himself for the worst when he was announced that there was a homicide case and a AMBER Alert. It only succeeded in making the whole thing more chilling that the murder place was a children's summer camp. While speeding towards the location he used all his willpower to not imagining what might be waiting._

_Not that anything his imagination projected would've matched the reality._

_The first thing he saw upon arriving to the scene was the body. A man in his late thirties with somewhat unruly brown hair and hazel eyes that were currently staring glazedly at the sky. Tall and clearly very athletic, definitely not the easiest possible target. Stabbed five times with a visible amount of determination. Someone really wanted the guy dead, then._

_Crime scene investigator Garreth Jackson noticed him just then. The man straightened his relatively short form and walked to where he was waiting. On his way the investigator removed the head part of his entirely white uniform to allow him a visual to a bush of wild, blond hair. "You sure did get here fast." The younger man nodded towards the corpse, his green eyes grave. "That would be Trevor Durbin, one of the directors of the camp. He was killed sometime last night, most likely between one and three am."_

_Damian nodded, feeling a touch of something deeply unpleasant. He couldn't look away from the deceased's admittedly flawless face. "This is a kids' camp. Finding suspects isn't going to be pleasant", he sighed, feeling very tired all of a sudden. It took some time before he managed to find enough courage to voice the question burning his mind. "What about the missing girl?"_

_Garreth shook his head and shrugged, eyes darkening with dread and annoyance. "From what I've heard it's… bad." The investigator nodded towards the forest nearby. "A massive search party went there about an hour ago. There are cops, dogs and volunteers looking for her. At this point we can only wait."_

_Damian's eyes shifted ever so slightly. It wasn't until then he heard the distant rumble of a water fall. He wished he was surprised when another hour later the search party arrived with morose faces and a little girl's shoe that'd been found from the water fall's edge._ /

* * *

Spencer's eyes were hazy and distant while he stared at the interrogation room's window, all too aware that he was sitting at the wrong side of the table. Outside raindrops kept crawling unnaturally slowly, like the course of time itself had been altered. To him it would've made sense that such might've happened when…

He took a deep breath, only then realizing that he'd been holding it. Repeated the action, for good measure, again and again until he felt dizzy. His lungs were burning, along with his eyes. The stinging in them hadn't disappeared since he saw the body. _Her _body.

"Reid." Derek's voice was soft, comforting. His scattered mind clung to it. "I know that this is hard, but… I need you to focus, okay? Because I need you to tell me everything you know about Maureen Stones, for her sake."

Hearing the name finally snapped Spencer fully to the present. He gritted his teeth, steeling himself, then unleashed the words. "Her name… It's not Maureen. It's… It _was_ Alyssa Stiles." After letting the sharpest edge of the ache fade he went on. "I met her at a summer camp when I was… eight years old, I think."

Derek nodded slowly, making notes. For the first time since discovering the body their eyes met properly. The older agent gave him a look of deep sympathy. "What do you know about her?" the man inquired. "Why did she change her name?"

Spencer swallowed, unable to get rid of the horrible taste in his mouth. "I don't know much. I only knew her for about a month. Her parents were doctors, she had a sister."

Derek wrote all of that down, a frown deepening on the agent's face. "So… You never saw her again after that camp?"

Spencer shuddered violently, so much going through his system all at once that in became hard to breathe once more. His mouth opened several times before even the slightest bit of sound came. "No."

Derek had to notice that he was hiding something. But as it was the man seemed to let it slide. The relief was short lived. "Do you have any idea who might've killed her?" Now that was the million dollar question.

Spencer felt like he'd been shot. All the memories that flooded through him… The emotions they stirred… He wiped his eyes. "Yes." _Yes, yes, yes, YES!_ His eyes were full of despair and his body was practically pulsating with sheer terror. Even the thought was impossible but… "There's… There was this man. But… I don't think that he's the one we're looking for."

Derek frowned. Confusion was loud and clear in the man's eyes. "Why's that?"

"Because he's dead." Spencer looked towards the window. The rain was falling harder. "And… So was Alyssa, even before tonight."

* * *

It was a early morning following a long, restless night and the agents approaching the apartment of a woman who turned out to be Alyssa Stiles were exhausted. That, and very worried. It was always taxing when a case turned out personal.

David was the one to break the somewhat tense silence. He rubbed his face a little while speaking, trying to wake himself up properly. "How is he doing?"

JJ glanced towards him with a quick blink, like someone who'd been on the verge of falling asleep. "Spence?" She averted her gaze, some pain flashing in her eyes. "Not… well. He's in a shock and seems to be grieving. Morgan's talking to him but I'm not sure how much he's able to tell right now."

David mulled over the information for a while before speaking again. His voice was a lot tighter than before. "Do you think that he's one of those two left the killer mentioned in that message?"

JJ shivered, feeling cold and sick to her stomach. "I don't know", she admitted quietly. And the honest, the bitter truth was that she didn't know anything anymore.

By then they were already steps away from the crime scene. David was about to say something more but the words died into the man's throat. Because they weren't alone.

There, standing unashamedly and boldly inside the police lines like he owned the place, was a tall man dressed in a long, black coat. The intruder's black hair billowed angrily in the wind that was still cold from the rain that lasted the entire night. He seemed to be examining something with a deep level of interest.

JJ and David exchanged a look, then began to approached with their guns fully ready. The stranger noticed them when they were four meters away. "I'd put the guns away if I were you", a deep voice rumbled.

David frowned. If anything his gun rose a little. "Why's that?"

To answer his question there was the unmistakable sound of a gun's safety being clicked off. "Put… them… away", a low, deadly voice came from behind them. There was a clearly apparent British accent. "Slowly. And make sure that I see your hands."

Anyone in their right mind would've obeyed that command. David and JJ put their weapons away slowly, neither daring to make any sudden movements. JJ's heart hammered furiously while she kept her eyes on the black haired man, trying to figure out what the hell was going on and how she'd get herself and David out of this mess.

There was a long moment of heavy silence until the tall Brit finally spoke, his face nonchalant despite everything that was going on. "Enough with the drama, John. It appears that these two are FBI-agents."

"What?!" There was movement behind them. "Bloody hell, Sherlock…! And it didn't even cross your mind to tell me that _before_ I pulled a gun on them? I thought that they were going to shoot you!"

"You didn't exactly give me the time to explain, now did you?"

Seeing her opportunity JJ moved, mindful to do it slowly although it seemed that the danger was over. "I'm going to pull out my badge, alright?" Which she did, without earning a bullet to her skin. "I'm SSA Jennifer Jareau. The man beside me is SSA David Rossi. Yes, we're with the FBI."

"SSA?"

"Supervisory special agent", Sherlock supplied, beginning to sound impatient. Those sharp eyes were firmly on the agents. "You're investigating Alyssa Stiles' murder, correct?"

That was when David took a step forward. There was a disbelieving look on the man's face. "Look… Sherlock, right? And John. This is a crime scene. What…?"

"The same as you two. Solving a case." The man who was apparently called Sherlock lifted his chin, not a hint of hesitation or uncertainty in those eyes. "The name's Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective. And since you're questioning whether we should be here… Contact Mycroft Holmes from the British government. And do get to it quickly. We're wasting time."

* * *

In the end Spencer needed a break. Instinctively he headed towards the break room in hopes of finding coffee. It was nice to pretend, even if for just a moment, that caffeine would be able to erase the ghosts lingering on his tails.

He was just about to grab his fourth mug of the morning when he saw David approaching, appearing stunned, deeply annoyed and positively murderous. Spencer sighed inwardly. It wasn't too hard to deduce what happened.

_Damnit, William…!_

"JJ and I re-visited the crime scene", David announced in a dark tone. "And we weren't alone. There were two men. JJ's chatting with one of them, who claims to be a doctor and a former army medic. The other… He announced quite clearly that he'll only talk to you. In private."

Spencer nodded, trying to appear far calmer than he actually felt. "Okay. I'll talk to him." To be fully honest he wanted to talk to William, too. And preferably so that none of his teammates were there to hear. Some of the things that needed to be spoken through…

David frowned. There was worry and confusion in the man's eyes. "Are you sure that it's a good idea? You don't even know…"

"Actually… I do", he confessed and shifted his weight. Suddenly he felt quite uncomfortable in his own skin. "He probably told you that he's here to investigate the case but he's also a witness. Just like I am." Seeing David's stunned look and quickly parting lips he went on. "I'll explain later, I promise. But I need to see him first. Where is he?"

It was blatantly obvious that David didn't like it but the older agent also had very little choice over the matter when Spencer had made up his mind so firmly. They barely spoke while making their way towards the interrogation room holding William, both of them deep in thought. Spencer's heart was hammering at a speed that couldn't possibly be healthy.

Spencer hadn't actually met William since the camp. He didn't know what to expect. And then the door separating them was opened.

There, pacing around restlessly with energy that didn't seem to come from this world, was a tall man with wild raven hair and even more untamed eyes. Thin and pale by nature. In the few seconds that flashed by Spencer's eyes scanned through, trying to take in everything.

A former drug addict in a constant need of stimulation for his storming mind. Now worked to solve crimes. A chain smoker who'd grown quite skilled at hiding it. Very few close relationships. Severe trust issues, which was perhaps to be expected of a man who could see pretty much everything with a mere glance. Highly intelligent, deeply guarded, always insistent to gain the upper hand in every situation and every meeting. This time attempting to achieve that by staring him down. Most likely hadn't been able to rest properly in all his life, or at least since childhood. Which had left behind the restlessness, the constant need to be in motion, the never ending overdrive.

Spencer knew, with certainty that made him feel uncomfortable, that a similar evaluation was made on him by his counterpart and couldn't help wondering what the other saw.

In the end Spencer breathed in deep and took a step forward, wondering how to start. He didn't speak until the door was closed, partially because he wanted the privacy, partially because he simply couldn't produce a single word. "When I called you I was trying to warn you, not to invite you here. William…"

"It's Sherlock", the black haired man announced sharply. Those eyes doubled the weight of the words. "Don't ever call me William again."

Spencer nodded, sliding slowly to a chair that'd been placed to wait for him. "Okay", he amended somewhat numbly. "Sherlock, then." The man himself might've forgotten but he remembered, so clearly that it hurt, the kid that ferocious being used to be.

Spencer didn't quite know what to say but Sherlock clearly didn't have such a problem. The Brit's eyes were demanding as they kept staring at him. "You know a lot more than you've told your team. What are you hiding?"

A tremor crossed Spencer. Cold, terrifying in its power. His mouth went dry and it took considerable effort to regain his ability to speak. "I… wanted to talk to you first." He breathed. "How much do you remember of that summer?" He could see those shadows loud and clear in the other's eyes but he had to ask. Re-awakening those memories…

Sherlock's eyes were dark. A sudden might've mistaken them to be hostile. "I've deleted most of it." It was a somewhat wounded growl. A furious attempt to maintain control. "All I know is that after the summer when I met you and Alyssa she was dead, I didn't want to be called William ever again and I've been having nightmares of a man whose face I never see clearly." There was a pause during which they sized up one another. "I came here to solve Alyssa's second murder. And to get answers."

Spencer felt breathless, even dizzy. He swallowed, his sweating hands fisting and unclenching rapidly. "You should've stayed in England", he managed at last. "You should've let him stay in your nightmares instead of coming to face him again."

* * *

In the meantime Penelope Garcia was digging through the camp both Spencer and Alyssa participated. There wasn't much. Computers weren't exactly common back then, after all. But after a couple of phone calls to the right people she managed to get her hands on several pictures, a description of what was going to happen during the camp and a list of names of those involved.

Derek entered the room with the two mugs of coffee just when she was processing her findings so far. Her eyes had been drooping but they perked up instantly at the promise of caffeine. "My hero!" she sighed, accepting his offering.

Derek smiled, then nodded towards the pile that'd crawled its way to her desk. "What have you found so far? Anything important?"

If the circumstances had been a bit less grave Penelope would've smiled. "Guess what? The camp was designed for 'gifted children'."

One corner of Derek's lips twitched. "Why am I not surprised…", he mused. He leaned closer to read the documents and frowned. "Six weeks? Isn't that a bit long for children from the ages of eight to fifteen?"

Penelope nodded, not quite understanding the shivers going down her spine. "The children got the chance to visit home every weekend if they wanted to. Most of them did."

They studied the material in silence for a while until Derek saw something. The man's eyes widened a fraction. "That name Reid mentioned, Trevor Durbin… I just spotted it." He was pointing at the papers.

Not sure if she wanted to know Penelope took a look. She shivered. Trevor was one of the camp's directors.

Not knowing what to say she remained quiet, instead turned to her computer. In a moment a flood of information was right in front of her. "As far as I can tell he was a perfectly normal family man. A wife and three kids. No criminal record." The nausea from before rolled right back in when something in particular caught her eye. "He… died on the summer Reid was at the camp. Stabbed five times." _Just like Alyssa._

Derek was quiet for a while, the same dread she was experiencing clearly going through him as well. It took a while before he managed to speak. "Where are his family members?"

Penelope did some searching. "His daughter died of overdose about a year ago and his other son moved to Europe in 2006. But his wife and other son live only an hour's drive away."

Derek nodded solemnly. "Good, in that case we'll pay them a visit. We've gotta find out what happened at that camp." Yet both of them were unsure whether they really wanted to know.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: So your favorite geniuses have finally met. But oh, this is turning really, really murky. What in the world happened that summer? Who's the killer and the two targets left?

PLEASE, do leave a note before you go! It'd be awesome to hear from you.

Until next time, ya all! I really hope that I'll see you there.

Take care!

* * *

D. Rose: So the first chapter had you captivated, then? (grins radiantly from ear to ear with joy) GOSH, how I wish that the next bit will please you just as much.

Colossal thank yous for the review!


	3. The Camp of Fear

A/N: Oh yes, it's time to go on with this story. (grins) Hooray?

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for your reviews and love! I'm happier than you could imagine that you've all decided to join in. (HUGS, and beams)

Awkay, because it's rude to stall… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

The Camp of Fear

* * *

/ _While the older children of the camp, including William Holmes, headed for a hike the younger ones were left to make decorations for the evening's celebration to honor the halfway mark of the camp. Alyssa was very excited until she realized that someone was missing. With a frown she headed for a search._

_Of course she knew that it was forbidden to enter the boys' building. But what other choice did she have? She looked around, unable to catch a trace of anyone present. "Spence?" she called out. No reply came. Her stomach knotted uncomfortably. "Spence? Where are you?"_

_That was when she heard something. Almost like… sobs, coming from the building's shower room. Curious and worried she headed towards the noise. What she found was Spencer sitting on the wet floor fully clothed, water washing over him with a significant amount of pressure. He was trembling, as though feeling incredibly cold, with his knees brought to his chest and arms wrapped around them._

_Alyssa blinked twice. Despite her IQ confusion took over. "Why… are you sitting there with your clothes on?" He didn't give any sign that he would've heard her. The fear rising she tried again, despair coloring her tone. "Spence? Are you okay?"_

_She saw him swallow hard. It took a while before he spoke, so quietly that she barely heard. "Leave me alone, please."_

_It stung Alyssa to be pushed away in such a way. She frowned, hurt and unable to understand. "But…" Then when she heard steps. And although she was brave she knew that she'd get into a huge trouble if she'd be spotted there. Every little bit of her full of reluctance and pleading for him to ask her to stay, after all, she turned and began to hurry away. Spencer didn't utter a sound._

_Spencer joined the others a couple of hours later, hair dry and in changed clothes, acting like nothing had ever happened. Perhaps Alyssa was a genius but she was also just a little girl, overwhelmingly relieved to have everything back to normal. The day went on just like any other and the shower incident remained unmentioned._ /

* * *

Aaron and David stared at the house before them with solemn eyes and grim faces, still as statues. Neither of them could be descibed as a man to be startled easily, much less as a man who'd believe in silly horror stories. Besides there was nothing particularly menacing about the house. It was painted white, apparently quite a while ago because the paint was chipped from places, and large windows most likely shed a lot of light inside. Outside they saw a undeniably beautiful, well loved small garden. Still they were both nearly convinced that the building casting a pitch black shadow on them couldn't be anything but haunted.

"What a cheery place", David mused out loud.

Aaron's answer was a stiff nod. They exchanged a one more look before heading towards the door. A firm knock left them waiting for the unknown.

In the end the door was opened by a very handsome man who appeared no older than thirty-five although his chocolate brown eyes revealed that he was much older. The stranger's tousled dark hair suggested that he'd woken up recently. A kind smile was offered to them. "Good morning. How may I help you?"

They both showed their badges. "I'm agent Aaron Hotchner with the FBI. This is agent David Rossi. We're looking for Sophia Durbin."

The man's eyes became troubled for a second before he managed to disguise it. He swallowed. "That… would be my mother. I'm Duncan. Just a second." He retreated back into the building. A couple of minutes passed, during which they heard hard words being exchanged. Upon returning Duncan seemed a couple of shades paler than before. "I'm sorry. Mom… She doesn't like visitors too much."

The agents muttered absentminded thank yous, both wondering just what they'd gotten themselves into. The inside of the house wasn't any less chilling. They found themselves from a long hallway that had walls of suspiciously warm creamy color, a lot of paintings of vague landscapes, fruits and vegetables. Those along with several doors. But no pictures, nothing that would've given a more personal touch. It wasn't threatening per se. Still something felt badly off. From the corner of his eye Aaron noticed how Duncan bit his lip. "You're… here to ask questions about my father, aren't you?"

The agents were hesitant until David nodded slowly. "Yes. We'd like to ask her a couple of questions."

Duncan sighed. "I'm afraid that you won't get a lot out of her. She's hated every single member of law enforcement since… Well." He nodded towards a further part of the long hallway. "She's in the living room, second door to the right."

Still wondering just where they'd ended up the agents continued towards the given direction. What they found was a small room that had walls and a floor made of wood, along with a fireplace and a massive bookshelf.

Those, and a woman in her late sixties or early seventies. Her chestnut colored hair that'd gained stripes of silver had been cut short and combed neatly, and her clothes spoke of control and well trained manners. The same couldn't be said about her nearly black eyes that were screaming war at them. "So now they've sent the FBI?" she sneered. Her eyes narrowed. "If you're here to come up with more lies of him you really should leave. _Now_."

* * *

For JJ the already long day became even harder when it was named her task to meet Alyssa Stiles' mother, Meghan Stiles. The tall woman with long, blonde hair and huge blue eyes appeared painfully frail when she helped her sit down. Such wasn't a wonder. Just a couple of hours earlier Meghan had identified her own daughter's body.

JJ sighed while taking her own seat. How in the world was she supposed to start? "I'm truly sorry for your loss", she said softly in the end, with utmost sincerity.

Meghan nodded barely visibly, her eyes far away, and wiped her cheeks although more tears came immediately.

JJ took a deep breath, then marched on. "I know that this is a horrible time but I have to ask you a few questions about her." She gave the mother a few moments. "What was Alyssa like?"

Finally there was a reaction. "I know that this sounds cliched, but… She was the perfect little girl in every way." There was a sad, short lived smile. "We… We had her IQ measured before the camp. It was… It was a requirement, for being allowed to participate. She scored 191." With how tightly Meghan buried her face into her hands the following words were muffled. "She… She was a lovely girl. Always mindful of others, never without a smile on her face. I… I can't remember ever seeing her cry, not even when she was born." The grieving mother stared at her, blue eyes full of confusion, pain and questions. "Everyone she met loved her. Everyone. Why… Why would anyone…?" With that the woman broke down completely, loud sobs wrecking her entire frame.

JJ had hard time keeping her own emotions in check. If something like this had happened to Henry… She took the woman's hand, squeezed tightly. "That's what we're trying to find out." Her voice was a little choked but clear. "We'll do whatever we can to find her killer. I promise." She gave the other a breather before continuing. "Why did she change her name?"

"It's not that big of a change, really. Since… the events of the camp her father and I divorced so she took my last name. Alyssa was her second name." Meghan gritted her teeth. "She was determined to use that after her return."

JJ frowned. Her skin was already tingling with entirely too familiar dread. "Do you have any idea why?"

Meghan looked at her directly into eyes. The woman's gaze was full of helpless fury. "Because she was bold enough to stand up against a monster although she was only eight years old. And before his death he paid back with killing her for three minutes and twenty-eight seconds."

* * *

Sherlock drummed restlessly with his fingers, letting his irritation show clearly. His jawline was so tense that it hurt. His eyes _screamed_ questions.

Spencer wasn't answering any of them.

In the end Sherlock's temper got the better of him. His eyes narrowed before he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I want answers. And neither of us is leaving this room before I get them."

Spencer swallowed. There was a very nervous look in the agent's eyes. "I… can't tell you. You wouldn't believe me. You need to see for yourself." Stunningly enough the younger managed to go on before Sherlock's retort. "You… didn't delete it. You couldn't process it long and throughoutly enough to do so. Trust me, I know."

Sherlock frowned. He didn't have the slightest clue what the other was talking about and he hated it. "Then what did I do with those memories?" This was becoming infuriating.

Spencer's expression darkened. "You Mind Palace… Go there and you'll know."

Sherlock didn't trust the man, not with the knowledge that they'd only known each other for a few weeks when they were kids. But he was too curious and too determined to find out the truth. So he indeed entered his Mind Palace.

Only to find himself from a part of it he'd never seen before. Which alone was unnerving. Wasn't this supposed to be _his _head? _His_ memories?

And there, before him, was a massive black door. Locked so tightly that it was ridiculous, really. There weren't many times when Sherlock would've admitted having felt fear. But staring at that door he felt the kind of cold that could only come from one source.

All of a sudden Spencer stood beside him. The agen't expression was nothing short of grim. "Opening that door… It won't be pleasant. At all. And once you've done that there's no going back. Are you still sure that you want to do this?"

No, to be honest Sherlock wasn't sure at all. But he'd made up his mind earlier. He wasn't planning on backing down now. So, without saying another word, he stepped forward.

The lock broke down loudly, practically exploding and sending sharp shards flying everywhere around him. And then, agonizingly slowly and screeching with such volume that he had to use all his willpower to not cover his ears, the door opened halfway. Sherlock stood perfectly still for a few moments, a part of him he would've never admitted even existed hesitant. Then walked on, tearing the door open all the way. It was incredibly heavy and he panted under the strain, almost losing his will somewhere in the middle. But finally it was wide open.

Sherlock wasn't sure what he'd expected to see. A completely dark space that breathed out threat, agony and terror certainly wasn't it. He took a slow, careful step inside.

All of a sudden everything happened so fast that he barely had the time to process it. Out of the blue a hazardous growl crawled to his ears. Clearly warning him against taking another step. Sherlock swallowed but stepped forth anyhow. And in that very moment a massive black, equally dark eyed hound was coming at him, the growl rumbling like thunder.

* * *

Sophia Durbin's eyes were full of rage and lava while she stared at the two agents before her. "My husband wasn't a perfect man", she hissed. "But he also didn't…!"

Duncan took her hand. His eyes held a thousand apologies when he glanced towards them before focusing on her. "Mom, don't!"

Aaron frowned. "Calm down, Mrs. Durbin." He waited for a couple of seconds. "What can you tell us about his death?"

She gritted her teeth, hard. "Not much. But I can tell you this." Her eyes were venomous. "He was killed because of lies some brat kept spreading. Slaughtered in cold blood. I was left alone with three children who just lost their father and into a spotlight." Fury radiated from her, along with something far darker. "So many times… So many times I had to re-paint the house because they kept drawing obscene words and pictures on it. False accusations. Those ignorant…"

"Mom." Duncan's voice was soft but his eyes were full of pain. "It's all in the past, remember?"

Sophia didn't seem to be listening. Her entire attention was on the agents and it was terrifying in its force. "My oldest, Danielle… She couldn't handle it. The bullying, the threats, the public humiliation. They killed her, too."

"What, exactly, was your husband accused of?" David was bold enough to ask.

The air in the room grew ice cold, deadly. Sophia lifted her chin, her eyes turning into stone. "Trevor was a man who came home every single day to take care of me and our children. He loved his family, took care of his bills honestly and did his work well." There was a heavy pause. "He was a victim himself, not the monster that brat claimed he was."

* * *

Dr. John Watson was sporting a massive headache. Which, considering the circumstances, wasn't much of a surprise. In less than twenty-four hours he'd been dragged from his bed to another part of the world, tossed in the middle of a case that didn't make any sense at all to him yet. All he knew was that a woman was dead and Sherlock had been acting all weird since finding out about it. Or well, weirder than usual. He'd also almost shot two federal agents because he was really, entirely sure that they'd kill Sherlock to the spot. In full truth he wasn't yet fully convinced that they wouldn't, considering that the detective had been at his pretty much worst behaviour since the start of this bizarre nightmare. After they ran into the agents he'd been interrogated and although it was clear that he wouldn't end up into a jail, possibly a little bit thanks to Mycroft Holmes, it'd been a deeply unsettling experience that reminded him entirely too much of the time after Sherlock's fall. All John wanted was to get home to his wife and unborn child, preferably alive and in one piece.

Unfortunately going back without Sherlock wasn't an option. And as it was the detective was adamant to not leave until this whole thing had been sorted out properly. So John was stuck in America, in the middle of a case that he had no business digging through and with a very, very bad feeling nagging inside.

John took a deep breath, pleased to discover that he was feeling just a little bit better than before. With a quick glance towards the toilet's mirror he gritted his teeth, then splashed some cold water to his face. In a few more moments he felt ready to leave the room and face… whatever the hell happened to be waiting outside.

As soon as he stepped into the hallway he was nearly knocked down by a large, dark shadow. "Oi!" he exclaimed, turning his head to see Sherlock storming away, towards the nearest exit. He frowned, cold shivers running all the way through him. "Sherlock?" A door slamming closed was the only response he received.

Instinctively John moved to follow but a hand stopped him. "Don't. He… isn't going to listen to anyone right now."

John turned his head sharply to meet a man who'd introduced himself as Spencer Reid. His eyes narrowed, a sense of protectiveness he couldn't understand going through him. "What happened?" he demanded.

Spencer took a breath although, judging by the shudder, it hurt. The younger man's eyes appeared suspiciously red and a little moist. "I'm sorry but… I can't tell you." The agent nodded towards the breakroom. "Coffee?"

John licked his lips, subconsciously glancing towards the door Sherlock just stormed through. The leg that used to advance with a limp fidgeted. "I… suppose that I could use a cup of tea." Bloody hell, tea was better than this doing nothing!

The surreal silence that lingered around them was equal parts soothing and infuriating. John would've wanted to know what was going on, quite desperately, but he knew that he wouldn't get a word out of his companion. So he was forced to settle for a half maddening, half comforting waiting game during which they both consumed their beverages deep in thought.

Well, at least the tea was decent.

"I'm glad that he found a friend. I… know that someone like him isn't always easy to be around." Spencer's eyes were warm and sincere. "You're lucky to have each other."

For a few moments John almos snarled that '_For the last bloody time, we're not a couple!_'. But something on the agent's face made him change his mind. So, instead, he nodded.

Spencer's mouth opened but in the end whatever had almost come out was cut off by the room's door opening. In came a agent John remembered being called Derek. There was a predatory gleam in the mocha skinned agent's eyes that the doctor recognized well. "The forensics have dealt with the apartment. We can go in now."

"John and I will come with you." They had no idea when Sherlock had appeared. The detective managed to startle them all. The man reeked of cigarettes. "Now that we've established that we have the official authorization."

Spencer frowned. Derek's eyes flashed and in seconds it became clear just how little the man liked the thought. "You are only taken along as unofficial consultants. Don't contaminate the crime scene."

Sherlock's eyebrow bounced up in a threatening manner. "With all due respect, _agent_… I've seen far more crime scenes than you. I do believe that I know how not to make a mess out of one." There was a hazardous gleam in those eyes that never predicted anything good. "I'm not the one who prefers to use his fists instead of his brain, after all."

Just one glance was enough to tell just how much Derek wanted to use his fists in that particular moment.

John decided to step in before those urges would've gained any more fuel. "Alright, Sherlock, thank you. Now let's get moving, shall we?"

On their way towards the car, listening on as Sherlock and Derek kept up their hissing match, Spencer and John shared a long, suffering look. This was _not_ going to be pretty. They'd be lucky if they managed to keep those two from killing each other.

* * *

It may have been because of the aura of discomfort that radiated from Spencer. Or maybe he was just tired. But Derek practically held his breath right before they stepped into Alyssa's apartment, preparing himself for anything. What they found was nothing of what he'd expected.

The apartment was small but homey, breathed out the air of a place well loved. A selected amount of furniture, decoration that suggested Alyssa had liked Asian culture. Pictures of her parents, especially of her late father, sister and friends had been scattered everywhere. There was nothing out of the ordinary. The illusion held until they made it to the living room.

The signs of a struggle were everywhere. A heavy armchair had been knocked over, the TV had fallen to the floor and a baffling amount of smaller items had been tossed all over the place, several of them having broken to pieces. It was like a hurricane had swept through.

From the corner of his eye Derek saw how Spencer shuddered, like someone who'd been harmed physically. His eyebrows furrowed. "You okay, kid?"

A nod was Spencer's only response.

Derek would've wanted to question further but he had a feeling that Spencer wouldn't have wanted to give any more answers in front of the other two. So instead he focused on the room around them. The faster they'd get this over with… "It doesn't look like the killer took anything."

"Of course he did. Are you blind?" Sherlock's sharp response came without a hint of hesitation. The detective nodded towards a wall nearby. "There's a spot on the wallpaper that's a different color from the rest. There's been something covering it."

Derek blinked twice. Irritation flared inside him as he discovered that the Brit was right. How the hell did he miss that? "It was a painting. Or maybe a photograph."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, moving on to investigate something. "Yes. Congratulations on pointing out the obvious." _Idiot_, was unvoiced but loudly present.

Derek's mouth opened for a retort but John cut the agent short with a shake of head. There was a half amused, half agonized look in the doctor's eyes. "Trust me, don't. He could be a lot worse. Don't set him off."

Derek snorted, feeling more than a brush of disbelief. "Worse? What does he do then, conducts human experiments and abuses corpses?"

John's expression was all the answer he needed or wanted.

"Shut up!" Sherlock barked all of a sudden, with such volume that shot a jolt through Derek.

John groaned and rubbed his face roughly with one hand. The doctor was obviously well used to this. "Sherlock, we've talked about this…"

"Shut… up", Sherlock growled again, far more impatient this time. The detective nodded to his upper right so subtly that it was barely visible. It wasn't until then they noticed a small, almost skull like item sitting on a bookshelf. And a blinking red light that only a highly focused eye was able to catch. "We have a audience", the tall Brit mouthed.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Chilling, much…? (shudders) What… in the world is going on?

I've really gotta get going now. It'd be super cool if you left a tiny note before doing the same. (glances hopefully) I really hope that I'll see you again next time.

Take care!

* * *

**D. Rose**: Awww, now that's a relief to hear! (grins from ear to ear)

Huge thank yous for the review!

* * *

**Violet**: Oh, how happy I am to hear that! (beams) Hopefully what's to come will be as exciting to you.

Colossal thank yous for the review!


	4. The Wooden Box

A/N: Sooooo, it's time for another chapter. (grins) But before getting there a couple of things…

THANK YOU, so much, for your absolutely fantastic reviews and all those listings! I'm practically glowing here, ya know? (BEAMS)

And secondly… **This story will be headed to quite dark waters.** The things that this chapter introduces have been clear to me from the start, so I knew to expect that there'd be parts that won't be easy to type OR read. In fact, I'm currently wondering if rating T is enough anymore. **So head onwards with caution, yeah?**

Awkay, before I succeed in scaring off ya all… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride!

* * *

The Wooden Box

* * *

/ _The first two weeks and three days of the camp were full of joy, sun, innocent games and laughter. Alyssa Stiles was having the time of her life, as were the two other members of their bizarre Orion's Belt. But then the change came creeping in, so subtly that there was no way a child could've possibly noticed._

_One director of their camp fell ill and became replaced by a man named Trevor Durbin. That's when the secrets began. That's when appeared a fear that she could feel although she didn't have the slightest clue of what was going on. She saw the tension, the scared faces, the bruises, the eyes that were full of recently cried tears and sleepless nights. All of a sudden it wasn't just fun and games anymore._

_Alyssa was a determined little girl and she tried to get answers. Her two new friends refused to offer any. It was as painful to be left out as it was terrifying. The adults said barely a thing when she tried to tell them of her worries. They simply looked at her with pity, telling her to stop imagining things. To the rest of the world nothing at all had changed._

_Alyssa couldn't understand how they could be too blind to notice._

_For a moment she was fooled, too, if she was to be honest. Maybe she was blinded as well or perhaps Spencer and William became better actors. But for a moment things were almost back to normal. That was until one sunny early afternoon._

_The whole camp was just about to finish lunch when one of the directors named Victor, a man in his early twenties with over grown blond hair and grayish blue eyes, appeared. There was something close to rage on his face when he tossed an item to the table for all of them to see. A video camera. "Alright", he hissed. "This is a serious offense. I really hope that you all know as much. But whoever did this… Step up now, and the punishment you'll receive is far less severe."_

_"What are you going on about?" one of the older kids demanded._

_"Someone installed a camera to the boys' shower room." Victor's eyes burned while the scanned through the crowd. "So, whoever is the jokester that pulled this stunt… Step out now so we can have this matter dealt with."_

_No one confessed. But Alyssa was quick enough to see the look of understanding, disgust and terror her two friends exchanged. And she was no longer deluded into believing that all was fine._ /

* * *

For a few moments the group of four looked at the camera, attempting to figure out what they should do with it. In the end Derek reached out a glowed hand and took it roughly. "The show ends _now_", the mocha skinned agent growled, bagging the deviously small and harmless looking item. There was a layer of dust on it, revealing that it'd been there for a long time. Even when Alyssa was still alive. Watching, with someone on the other end waiting. "I… know someone who may be able to dig out some clues from this thing."

Spencer appeared pale and nauseated. John had a grim look on his face. But Sherlock… The detective was _fuming_.

"He…", Sherlock hissed, his low baritone turning into a deadly growl. "He's been watching us, and her. Enjoying himself."

Those words alone were a red flag. A new line appeared to Derek's forehead. "'He'? Sherlock, how can you be so sure that it's a man?"

But the Brit wasn't listening. Derek stared with constantly growing alarm and confusion as the taller man made his way to the apartment's balcony. Although the agent didn't like to even imagine he couldn't help wondering what the hell was going on.

Dr. John Watson wasn't a genius or a internationally famous detective. But he'd always understood human nature. It was his one asset while working with Sherlock. When his friend disappeared, or perhaps rather stormed off, to the balcony of Alyssa's apartment there was a all but audible click in his head.

The cold that rushed over John was unbelievable. A intense wave of nausea ravished him, forcing him to swallow loudly. His left hand began to shake so he balled it, tightly enough for it to hurt.

_Oh my…!_

John barely registered how Spencer and Derek began to process the scene, talking quietly with frowns on their faces. It also bothered him far less than it should've that they were at a crime scene, where someone had died. It took him much longer than it should've to find the strength for walking out and actually facing Sherlock.

The detective genuinely didn't seem to notice him which gave him a few extra moments. He licked his lips and took a deep breath, then nearly whispered the first words. "This… isn't just any case, right?"

Sherlock snorted, not looking his way. There was something wild, desperate and nearly animalistic in the detective's eyes. "I would've hardly traveled here for just any case, now would I?"

John didn't let the hostile tone deter him. He gritted his teeth and went on with entirely new determination. "Alyssa… She was important to you." It was a statement, not a question. He went on after seeing a flash of confirmation in Sherlock's eyes. Pressed further, attempting to not feel gutted over having to do it. "Sherlock… What happened at that camp… It wasn't your fault."

It took a second until a flame that would've terrified most took over Sherlock's eyes. John knew to take the emotions for what they truly were. It was fear, the untamed and primal kind. The feelings coursing through the detective weren't in the taller man's control anymore. "Shut… up, John", Sherlock hissed like a threatened wild animal.

Sadness pierced John, brought moisture into his eyes that was hard to blink away. He had a feeling that the talk with Spencer had triggered these memories in his friend. And they were tearing the supposedly emotionless man to pieces. No, he wasn't about to shut up. Not now. "While you were… away I had a patient. A little boy who'd just turned seven. Incredibly smart, stunningly polite. There was nothing alarming until I had to touch him. He tensed up and shuddered like I'd struck or burnt him. And the look in his eyes… It was just like the one in yours right now." He looked away, focusing on the clouds drifting across gray sky. Was it going to rain again? Yes, the first drops were already falling.

Sherlock was quiet for what felt like ages. When voice finally came it was nothing short of hostile. "Why, exactly, are you telling me that story?"

John met his friend's gaze, accepted the challenge. "Because I know." His voice shuddered from emotional overload but still it came out strong. Was it tears or rain running down his cheeks? Maybe a little bit of both. "And I… I need you to understand that it wasn't acceptable. Whatever he may have told you, nothing will ever make it acceptable."

* * *

In the end Aaron and David had no other choice but to terminate their interview with Sophia Durbin with very little success. They were about as polite as they could possibly be while bidding their goodbyes. She seemed to use all her willpower into not spitting at their faces.

They were just about to leave the chilling house behind when a voice called out to them. Quietly, as though in secrecy. "Agents, wait!" Duncan Durbin peered over his shoulder while making his way towards them. Like a haunted man. Those eyes were full of fear but also resolve. "I… I need to tell you something. But I couldn't do it... there."

In an instant the agents' attention was on him. Aaron's eyebrows furrowed. "Does it have something to do with Alyssa Stiles' death?"

Duncan nodded without a beat of hesitation, his face stricken all of a sudden. "I've… I should've told someone a long time ago, but… I was scared, I suppose."

"Tell us now", David coaxed.

Duncan licked his lips. The following words seemed to come out with a great deal of difficulty. "My sister… was there. Under a false name because it was against the rules for directors to bring relatives. And she saw the entire thing, what my father did. She told me once, when she was high."

The agents exchanged a look. Nausea swell in their stomachs. "Did he… touch Alyssa?" Aaron asked tersely.

Duncan shook his head. His eyes became unreadable. "He… It's his fault that she's dead. But… He didn't _touch_ her." There was a heavy pause. "My father preferred boys."

* * *

In Alyssa's apartment Spencer and Derek were unaware of the drama taking place at the balcony. Their eyes were full of focus while they searched through the whole place, eventually moving on to the bedroom. The older agent's focus was, however, slightly misplaced.

Derek's gaze swept towards Spencer. His friend seemed even more tense than a few moments earlier, if such was possible. He frowned. "Hey, Reid?" It took much too long before he received a reaction. "What's going through that head of yours?" Of course he knew that this case… was difficult. That it wasn't necessarily a good idea to let the genius work on it. Getting Spencer himself to admit as much was a entirely different matter. For now all he could do was keep his eyes open and hope for this nightmare to end soon.

Spencer shivered, running a hand through his hair. "It's just… It's weird to be here. To imagine that she's dead, one of our victims."

Derek sighed, casting a look of sympathy towards his friend. "I'm sorry." Empty, pointless words, really. But they were all he had to offer.

Derek wasn't aware of what he'd been looking for until he found it. He was in the middle of kneeling down when his fingers brushed the wall a little too roughly. What he found was a hole underneath the wallpaper. He frowned.

_What is that, another camera…?_

Without hesitating for even a second Derek slammed his fist right through, not caring even a little if he'd end up breaking a piece of evidence along the way. If he'd damage a yet another camera that was spying on them… Good!

But it wasn't a blinking red light he found. Instead he came across a hollow space. In it was a wooden box, with a bizarre collection of dots engraved to it.

"Orion's Belt", Spencer whispered, stepping forward. It was impossible to read all the emotions dancing in the young genius' eyes when they found his, begging. "Morgan, leave it be." _Please, please, please…!_

Derek sighed. "I'm sorry but I can't. It's evidence, Reid."

Spencer's mouth opened but it was too late to voice any further objections. The box wasn't locked so in a few seconds Derek had already opened it. What he found made him blink slowly a couple of times.

There was a printed copy of Spencer's thesis. Newspaper articles and pictures. Several of them about Sherlock's as well. The article about Sherlock's supposed suicide had the ink smudged from several parts. And lastly, there was a picture of all three of them as kids, most likely taken by one of the camp's directions. They all had wide grins and a bit of dirt on their faces.

"Sherlock and I… We both deleted her from our minds. Some traces remained, but… In a whole she and the camp were gone", Spencer confessed. "I know that it was cruel, that she didn't deserve it. But I… I had to, or it would've never stopped haunting me. My mind shut out one little bit at a time and six months or so later there was nothing but a distant echo of her name left. Until Tobias Hankel's drug and that hypnotist I visited with Rossi, that is. That's when the memories started to come back to life. And all this time… All this time she kept us so close."

Derek stared at all the items before him, not quite knowing what to say. It was so heartbreaking, all of it. He took a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts. That was when he spotted something new.

It was there, almost hidden by everything else. It would've been deviously easy to miss. But now that he'd caught a trace it drew him in. With a new frown on his face he grabbed it to discover that he was staring at a yet another newspaper article. It took about five seconds before the headline finally truly sank in. It did so with a sickening amount of brutal force. He actually gagged dryly. "Spencer…!"

'_A camp director suspected of molesting several young boys found murdered_'

And all of a sudden Derek understood far too much.

* * *

At the police station Penelope was busily going through the information that'd piled up at her desk. It was a lot of stuff that she would've been much happier not knowing. Most of it she'd never manage to erase from her head. But if losing a few nights of good sleep would help catch whatever sadist was behind this…

She was so intensely focused that the sound of approaching steps made her jump. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you", chief Rick Stamson supplied tensely. His eyes appeared even older than before. "The thing is… There's something urgent that your team needs to know."

Penelope swallowed, chills going through her. And here she'd thought that this couldn't get worse… "What is it?"

Chief Stamson responded with offering her a thick file, his face grim.

* * *

In Alyssa's apartment it was chaos, all of it. Sherlock burst back inside from the balcony, John trailing exactly two steps behind with both of them sporting stormy expressions Derek barged out of the bedroom, Spencer quickly on his tails. There was a hurricane in the mocha skinned agent's eyes. Spencer, on the other hand, looked like someone who wanted desperately to wake up from the most horrible of all bad dreams.

"Morgan, please…!"

"Reid, no." Derek's hand trembled a little when he pulled out his cell phone. The man spun towards the taller genius, his flaring rage needing a target. "You should've told us, from the start! You should've trusted us!" _Trusted me!_

Spencer withdrew visibly, both mentally and physically. "I know!" There was a clearly defensive expression on the young man's face. "Do you honestly imagine that this is somehow easy for me? That I don't spend every single day wishing that I'd been braver, back then, so Alyssa wouldn't have needed to be?"

"Then be brave now." Derek still sounded far harsher than would've been appropriate but at least he was calmer. "Bring an end to this right now. We need to find out who killed Alyssa because I doubt that it could've been Durbin's ghost."

Spencer exchanged a subtle yet meaningful look with Sherlock. After all, he wasn't making this decision only for himself. He didn't nod until the detective did.

They were a true mess, all of them. Derek fighting furiously against the ghosts from his own past while trying to accept the fact that his best friend had similar. Spencer trembling under the immense weight of the secret he'd been running away from for such a long time. John standing a step closer to Sherlock than usual in a definitely protective stance, his eyes slightly red and puffy. Sherlock trying to maintain his usual nonchalant mask although his eyes were boiling and he seemed fully ready to start screaming.

But they hadn't come this far to run away.

Once more giving in to his rage Derek kicked a panel nearby the floor with all his might, feeling a faint hint of pleasure at it cracking. Of course it wasn't the person that he wanted to kill again with his own bare hands. But it was a start. Then, as calmly as a man in his mental state possibly could, he dialed numbers with a very unsteady finger.

"_I was just about to call you…!_"

"Garcia, listen up." He gritted his teeth to avoid unloading his frustration on another undeserving target. "Trevor Durbin… Alyssa's death has something to do with his. I need you to go through everything you can about him."

Whatever she said in return he didn't hear. Because he noticed that Sherlock and John had spotted something that'd been hidden behind the panel he just broke. Sherlock's eyes widened a barely noticeable fraction.

All color left John's face. "Oh no, bloody hell no…!" the doctor muttered. "Not again…!"

His sputtered words didn't change anything. The item of that had their undivided attention was still there. Far too real.

It was a bomb that was counting backwards, clearly having been activated by someone.

* * *

Unaware of what was happening on the other side of the line Penelope went on. Her tone was nothing short of hysterical, just like her heartbeat. "Morgan, you… There's something you guys need to know. Right now."

That was when she heard the commotion. Shouts rang out and soon after several sets of steps were running. Derek's phone fell, so loudly that Penelope flinched.

Her blood stilled while dread spread all the way through her. "Morgan? What's going on?"

There was no response. Only more background noise. Words that she couldn't comprehend. And then the unmistakable sound of a explosion.

"MORGAN! REID!"

* * *

Elsewhere, on the other side of another camera that'd been observing the group of four, a person hidden by shadows smirked as the monitor soon showed nothing but black and put away the device that activated the bomb.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: (shudders) Okay. That was MEAN, I'm the first one to admit it. (winces) What in the world happens next? Will all four of them make it through the blast?

Soooo… Thoughts? Do let me know! It'd be super cool to hear from you.

I've reeeeeeeally gotta go now. A busy updating day is busy. (grins) I hope that you'll all join in for the next one!

Take care!

* * *

**D. Rose**: That was a MASSIVE compliment, you know? (gasps, beams and HUGS) Gosh, how I hope that what's to come manages to keep you as captivated.

Massive thank yous for the absolutely amazing review!

* * *

**Violet**: I'm THRILLED to hear that. (grins from ear to ear) We'll see just what's up ahead our favorite team and crime fighting duo…

HUGE thank yous for the review!


	5. The Hound of Colorado Springs

A/N: Oooooh yes, it's updating time! (nods furiously) Are you guys ready?

Firstly, though…! Thank you, so very much, for all your reviews and support! I'm still baffled by how many friends this dark little tale has gotten. (BEAMS)

Awkay, because I was being a meanie the previous time… Let's go so you'll find out how the story continues. Brace yourselves for a stormy one!

* * *

The Hound of Colorado Springs

* * *

/ _Ever since he was a small child William Sherlock Scott Holmes' parents attempted to convince their son that the monsters his over active imagination conjured up weren't real. That there were no ogres lurking under his bed or in the shadows. Quite fitting, really._

_The first monster that showed its face to him came in broad daylight._

_A new experiment had kept William busy which meant that he was late for breakfast. He was just making him way towards the camp's main building when a sound made him freeze dead on his tracks. It was a very loud, low growl._

_William swallowed thickly, then turned his head slowly and cautiously. Stood only steps away was a massive Rottweiler, glaring at him heatedly. Had the canine already tensed up for an attack?_

_William couldn't remember a single occasion when he would've felt the kind of fear he did in those nerver ending ten seconds._

_"Dex, NO!" a unfamiliar male voice commanded all of a sudden. Turning his head William saw a man he'd never met before. There was a apologetic smile on the stranger's face. "I'm sorry. Dex can be quite a character sometimes." There was something in those eyes and that posture William didn't like. "I'm Trevor Durbin, the new director. How very nice to meet you."_ /

* * *

Chilling nightmares kept haunting Sherlock. It was the hound once more, growling at him in the dark. Circling him, each ticking by moment bringing it closer. Sherlock wanted to walk away, to escape, scream – _anything_ – but as it was his entire body remained paralyzed. Until eventually the growl came from right behind him. Sherlock spun, as fast as a human being can possible move, to see a pair of hellish, red eyes glowing in the dark. And then the hound attacked.

Sherlock's eyes flew open and only the dream he just escaped from kept him from slamming them right back closed. The assault of light and white was far too much for his pounding head. The infuriating beeping resonating in the background didn't help matters, either, nor did the deafening ringing in his ears that was almost enough to wipe away all else. It took only moments before the dull, gnawing ache spread into his whole body. He groaned, furiously trying to remember what happened.

Alyssa… He was in her apartment. But he wasn't alone.

"… ohn", he attempted to call out but his voice didn't sound right. Was there something blocking his throat or covering his mouth? What…?

There was movement at his right. In a few moments a figure loomed above him. It took worryingly long before his vision cleared enough to reveal the gloomy face of Mycroft Holmes. There were as deep shadows in his brother's eyes as below them. The man hadn't even shaved properly, which alone was a shock.

Sherlock blinked slowly. The image didn't change. "… I dying?" he inquired, his voice gruff and barely comprehensible. Why else would his brother have bothered to make it all the way to what apparently was his hospital bed, looking like _that_?

Mycroft seemed to understand, though. The older Brit gave him a dry look. "Surprisingly, no. Although you did a quite remarkable job to attempt achieving as much. You made me do leg work." His brother gave him a admonishing look when he wiggled, trying to sit up. "For once in your life, hold still. You're aggravating your injuries."

Sherlock cast a sharp, demanding look towards the other. "John." Well, the demand most certainly came out clearly.

Something in Mycroft's eyes made alarm swell inside him, even in his current condition. "Sleep, Sherlock. Now's not the time for answers."

Sherlock wanted to argue with all his might. But the exhaustion, or perhaps medication, pulling him under was strong. His last thoughts before oblivion claimed him were of John. Where was the doctor? What happened?

His dreams continued to be haunted.

* * *

The hazel eyes of a local news reporter Danielle Vargas were grim while she ran a hand through her long, nearly black hair and took a deep breath. Surprisingly enough her voice was steady when she got a signal and started talking. "Two hours ago the city of Colorado Springs was shaken by its worst tragedy in decades when an explosion tore through the apartment building behind me. So far the details are vague but at least five people have been confirmed dead and several more have been injured. Speculations over the cause of the explosion have already began…"

It would've required a very careful eye to spot the shadowy figure not too far from the reporter, only just close enough to be caught by the camera. The person stood there for the longest time, observing the badly damaged building and the people working furiously to aid those still trapped inside. Then, once a car had passed by, the figure was already gone. Making anyone who spotted the observer convinced that they'd been imagining things.

Derek had been wheeled into a surgery. That was all the information the hospital staff provided the team that'd gathered to the waiting room. There'd been an explosion that led to the deaths of several people and that was all anyone gave them.

Was Derek going to be alright? And what about Spencer? Was their youngest…?

_No_, Aaron reasoned with himself although using cold logic was next to impossible. If Spencer would've… Well, they would've been informed. It was horrifying to realize that such was all the comfort they could cling to.

There was also another reason to the gloomy states of their minds. By then they all knew at least a part of what happened at the camp and it… wasn't pleasant. All these years Spencer had been carrying the secret with him and none of them had even a clue. How was it possible that after all the years they'd been working together the genius trusted them that little?

Now, though, wasn't the time to focus on that.

Aaron took a deep breath. This was the part he hated about his role as a unit chief. He was the one who had to demand the team to, against all humanity, detach themselves from the fear, pain and worry at hand. "I know that we're all in a shock right now. That it's going to be hard to focus. But we need to keep trying to solve this case. For Morgan and Reid. And for Sherlock, John and Alyssa." He gave the words a few moments to sink in, then pressed on like a soldier. He didn't continue until he saw a touch of reluctant acceptance in the others' eyes. The words that crawled out tasted bitter on his tongue. "We have another attack in our hands. With several new victims." Implying the word 'victim' and members of his team to the same sentence…

"Spence and Sherlock…" JJ seemed pale and her hands were shaking. But there was also steel hard determination in her agonized eyes. "The words the killer left with Alyssa, 'two more'. Do you think they might've meant them?"

David nodded, his eyes distant. As they always were when he had to shove his emotions back. "It's likely", the older man agreed. "Especially now that we all know how the three of them… were linked."

There was a mutual shudder of disgust and grief. Alex Blake sighed before speaking, struggling visibly to sound professional. "Everything seems to lead back to the camp. And there's definitely a personal connection. All of this must've taken years of planning."

"It's also likely that the killer is a man", David continued. "He must have extensive knowledge on explosives. Otherwise he would've never been able to orchestrate this latest attack without injuring himself."

JJ nodded, a dark look on her face. "The killer knew to expect that they'd appear to the crime scene. He waited for them and when he could be sure that they were in position…" The rest didn't need to be said out loud.

"At that point it didn't matter anymore who else would be harmed", Aaron joined the collective chain of thought. "All that mattered was finally fulfilling his goal." Dear god, all those people who died in vain… The lives that may still turn out being lost as well…

"He waited for such a long time." Alex frowned, running a hand through her hair. A nervous habit she was most likely unaware of. "Explosion… Wouldn't it be… too fast? Unsatisfying?"

David shook his head. "He ran out of patience." The man gritted his teeth. "Sooner or later comes a point where a person decides that all that matters is finally getting the task done. He must've set several traps. This… was merely the one that snapped first."

Aaron nodded. "And he'll attempt to strike again once he learns that the plan failed. I've already made sure that there'll be a heavy amount of security in this hospital."

Penelope, who'd been shockingly still and quiet so far, shuddered visibly at their brutal assessment. Some fresh tears rolled down her deathly pale face. She wasn't as good at disconnecting her emotions as they were, which was perhaps a very healthy sign. JJ took her hand and gave it a firm, reassuring squeeze, which she returned gladly.

"I've been wondering about something", David mused out loud. "Like Blake said, the attacker had to know where they'd all be. He couldn't just sit in front of a monitor at all times, keeping an eye on Alyssa's apartment. Somehow he found out that Reid and Sherlock were headed towards it at that specific time. So, how?"

Ice cold silence filled the room while realization began to dawn. They didn't have the answer to David's question. They just knew that they were missing something vitally important.

Surprisingly it was Penelope who cut the tense silence. "Look, there's… I found out something and tried to call Morgan to let them know, just before…" She swallowed as though her throat hurt immensely. Her eyes watered for a moment. "Alyssa's mom… JJ, you asked her who were the most important people in her daughter's life. And… She didn't know if Alyssa was dating. But later she found a pair of jeans that Alyssa left to her for a wash after pouring coffee on them. There was this picture in the pocket. I… I must've forgotten to leave it at the station when I heard about the explosion." Her hand trembled miserably when she fished out a photograph from her bag and handed it for them to see.

In the picture was Alyssa, a radiant smile on her face and appearing so happy that it was heartbreaking, considering that it couldn't have been taken more than weeks or months before her death. And she wasn't alone. Stood beside her with a small, awkward smile and a rather scared look in his eyes was Duncan Durbin.

Aaron's head whirred while he stared at the picture, trying his best to understand. Did Alyssa know that the man beside her was the son of a monster she helped expose? Did Trevor know just who she was? And why hadn't he told them that he apparently knew her better than well?

Aaron gritted his teeth. It was extremely hard to keep the feelings bubbling inside from boiling over. "We need to call him in for official questioning."

* * *

John woke up from a dreamless slumber, panting and sweating like he'd just finished a marathon. His heart hammered violently while his eyes darted around wildly, his mind trying to figure out what was happening. It was the feel of a desert wind brushing against his face and tingling his eyes that gave him the answer.

Afghanistan, of course, where else would he be?

It wasn't until then he realized that his ears were ringing painfully and his head felt like someone had slammed a sledgehammer at it. He groaned, bringing a hand to his head. He shivered when his fingers met something warm and sticky. A closer inspection confirmed his grim guess. There was red staining his hand. And then the rest of the pain began to register.

His shoulder… It was on fire. His stomach area, back and left side also didn't feel right. His tattered clothes had been glued to his skin from several spots by dried blood. He preferred not trying to guess how much blood he'd lost.

What happened? Judging by the ringing of his ears it was an explosion, had to be. Maybe a roadside bomb? The memories floating through his chaotic head were hazy and few.

* * *

/ _There was a hellish amount of shouting that slammed at John's head like bullets. Hands tried to grab him. That was when the panic flared. "_DON'T TOUCH ME!_" John shrieked in the best Dari he could muster. Then repeated the same in Pashto for good measure._

_The owner of the prying hands wasn't listening, instead became more determined. The noise grew several degrees louder. That was when John attacked, with all there was still left in him._ /

* * *

John fought a brave, hard battle. At least if the discomfort everywhere in his body was anything to go by. And when all else failed he fled.

Still unable to convince himself to get up John swallowed, trying to smother the wave of nausea that overcame him.

The rest of the troupes… He did make sure that they were safe, didn't he? There'd been so many injured… Surely he wouldn't have just…

John attempted to move. Instantly intense pain spiked up, so hot and vicious that it blinded him for a long moment. He moaned, slumping back down. His heartbeat seemed to be calming down, alarming quickly in fact. It was like his whole body had been shutting down.

All of a sudden he wasn't alone anymore. He frowned at the sight of a figure above him. Shining radiantly in a merciless, scorching sunlight. Glowing like an angel. It seemed to take ages before those features became clear.

When they did John's eyes widened. A one more spark of clarity before a complete shutdown. "You…", he slurred. Probably inaudibly. "I saw you…!"

And then the world fell away.

It wasn't until an hour later Mycroft's cell phone rang. "_We found him two minutes ago. He'd hidden himself to a small alley and collapsed_", a woman's voice announced. "_He's still alive, barely. He's currently on the way to the hospital._"

* * *

Aside the machinery monitoring Sherlock's vitals the hospital room was completely quiet when a shadowy figure dressed up as a nurse entered. Once the door swung closed the arrival stood there in the near dark for a long time, observing the restlessly sleeping, heavily medicated detective. The gaze traveled towards the chest that moved along laboured breathing. And then practically soundless steps advanced, a perfectly steady hand pulling out a syringe.

If there was even a single benefit of Sherlock's past substance abuse it was that narcotics and sedatives tended to lose their grip on him quite quickly. Considering how dark it was it had to be night time when he struggled through the hue of all the drugs pumped into his system. Only to realize that he wasn't alone. There was a faint yet chillingly familiar scent of almonds in the air.

Turning his head with a great deal of difficulty Sherlock frowned. There, stood beside his bed… Was that a nurse? It was impossible to tell when his eyes seemed to be failing him. He couldn't even tell if it was a man or a woman. But he did see the syringe. The infuriating beeping in the room, probably his heart monitor, intensified as a response to the realization.

Sherlock attempted to speak but his tongue was too thick for him to form anything more than a incomprehensible sound of distress. Clumsily and far too slowly his hand attempted to crawl towards the nurse call button. His companion took it gently, moving it just out of his reach.

"Shh", a voice that sounded nothing but static to him soothed. "Just go to sleep, William. Rest now. It's going to be a long, rough road to hell."

Sherlock struggled stubbornly. But in the end the pull of his medication and the weight of his injuries were too much. The world was already slipping away from him.

And the last thing he saw before sinking back under was his mysterious companion beginning to inject some bizarre substance to his IV bag.

* * *

While the rest of the still remaining team rushed away to keep trying to solve the case Penelope announced firmly that she wouldn't leave the hospital. She wasn't acutely needed outside at the moment, anyway, and if she would be all she'd need was her laptop. Which was easy to transport to the hospital, really.

As it was Spencer and Derek needed her.

Hours wore on. At some point she must've fallen asleep because all of a sudden she woke up to her own horrified yelp. She couldn't remember what the dream was about. For that she was immensely glad.

The waiting was maddening. Penelope began to pace, unable to find a proper way to release all the restless energy bottling up into her body. She must've marched miles until a middle aged woman in scrubs appeared, her long blonde hair tied up messily and a exhausted look in her blue eyes.

There was a flash on uncertainty on the woman's face. "I'm Dr. Sarah Grimes. Are you... a family member of agent Derek Morgan?"

Penelope gulped, trying to steel herself for anything. It took all she had to not melt down completely right there. "I'm… We're on the same BAU-unit. So… Yes."

Dr. Grimes still didn't appear fully convinced. But apparently she'd had a long night and she was in no mood to argue. "Agent Morgan made it through the surgery remarkably well and is right now in recovery room. He'll be transferred to ICU-unit as soon as his condition allows." The doctor gave her a few moments to adjust to those news. "There was a bit of internal bleeding that had us very worried for a moment. He hit his head quite hard during blast and for that he has a contusion that will be monitored closely over the next couple of days. Two of his ribs and his left arm were broken. And… There were burns."

Penelope stiffened. Her chest tightened to an extend where it hurt. "How bad are they?"

Dr. Grimes sighed. "There are some second and a couple of third degree burns on his back. His legs also suffered a bit of damage. He may need skin transplants in the future, once he's healed a little from this ordeal."

Penelope nodded slowly, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. It did nothing to ease to cold. "But… He'll be okay?"

The doctor smiled and nodded. "Yes. Apparently agent Morgan is quite a fighter. Barring any complications he should recover quite well over time."

The relief was so overwhelming that it nearly swept Penelope off her feet. She wiped her eyes, only then realizing that she'd started crying all over again. She barely dared to ask the next question. "What about Reid?" Her heart skipped a beat when all she met was confusion. "I mean… SSA Dr. Spencer Reid. Another member of our BAU-unit."

Dr. Grimes frowned, seeming alarmed. "I'm… sorry, but… I was there aiding with the triage when the victims of the explosion were brought in. No patient by the same Spencer Reid was admitted to this hospital."

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: One… Two… Three… A TRIPLE cliffie?! Okay, ouch – THAT was mean! And here you thought that I was being mean before… (winces)

Soooo, eh… Comments? Thoughts? Objects that you'd wish to throw at me…?

I've reeeeeally gotta get going. Until next time, ya all! C u there…?

Take care!


	6. The Devil's Den

A/N: You know, at first I danced around this chapter for DAYS. And then it basically typed itself in a matter of hours. I've seriously never faced anything such before! We'll see what it says about the overall quality…

BUT, first… THANK YOU, so very much, for your reviews and adoration for this story! At the moment I LOVE typing this story. It's good to know that you're out there waiting for the chapters. Lots of hugs to you all!

Awkay, because I know what you came here for… Let's go! I truly hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

The Devil's Den

* * *

/ _The first time the police came to Sophia Durbin's door there were grim looks on their faces. Grim, but without a hint of sadness. In an instant it became very clear that something was horribly wrong._

_Sophia had always been a strong woman, emotionally and physically. But at that very moment her knees nearly gave out underneath her and her hands were shaking so badly that if she'd been holding something it would've crashed down to the floor. She swallowed loudly and somehow managed to lift her chin a little. A one last act of defiance against the weight of whatever was coming. "What is it?" she barked out, her tone a lot more hostile than she may have intended. She didn't manage to regret it too much._

_Her unwanted visitors exchanged a look that spoke a lot more than any words could. Then the taller of them, a middle aged man with ocean colored eyes and a touch of ginger in his blond hair, focused on her. "Are you Mrs. Durbin?"_

_She nodded impatiently and gritted her teeth. "Yes. Now get on with it."_

_The police man took a deep breath. "I'm chief McKinney, from the local police. Could we… come inside for a moment?" It wasn't until then they all became aware of the nosy neighbors staring at them. "It's about your husband."_

_She was very glad that she'd taken their advice to sit down when they announced that her husband was dead, murdered. Yet the news that shattered her world didn't seem to be enough. That was where the nightmare began._

_The officers spoke, spoke and spoke long after she'd snarled at them to shut up. Spewing out lies about her husband. Telling her awful things about him. Asking her if she'd ever noticed any suspicious behavior, if he'd ever touched their children improperly._

_Sophia was strong but she was only a human being. In the end it all got too much for her – for a woman who just lost the love of her life, who was just left alone with three small children. _

_What she didn't know was that her boys were upstairs, listening to it all through a secret hole. Learning things that no child of their age should've known. When she finally broke into a scream of anguish they shared a look that was full of terror, disgust, confusion and relief._ /

* * *

/ _The second time the police came they were there for her daughter. This time it was a short, hispanic officer with the warmest eyes she'd ever seen. She hated him all the same, from the bottom of her scarred heart._

_"Mrs. Durbin…", he started with a gentle tone. "I'm sorry, but… Danielle was… found an hour ago. She'd dead."_

_The scream that crawled through Sophia's throat was certainly nothing human. Nor were the emotional turmoils going through her. Again the whole neighborhood was watching when she attacked the officer._ /

* * *

The third time they came, it was for her son.

When they dragged a visibly terrified Duncan out of the house she screamed and fought, with everything there was in her. "I'm not letting you take him away, too!" she shrieked, putting up a mighty fight against two well built officers. "I've already lost my husband and daughter because of your lies! I'm not letting you take my son!"

But Duncan was already in a police car. Chief Stamson looked towards her with a expression she knew entirely too well. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Durbin. But several people have died, even more are injured and one man is missing. We need to ask him a couple of questions."

"My son isn't a murderer!" she growled like a beast.

But it was already over. Only a breath later she was all alone, at least in a way. All of a sudden she was entirely too aware of the neighbors staring at her with knowing, disgusted eyes.

Unable to take it anymore Sophie marched into her cursed house and slammed the door.

* * *

Spencer woke up to the most intense pain he'd ever felt. Which, considering that he'd been shot at and resuscitated in past, was saying a lot. He moaned, working his hardest to regain control over the sensation. His attempts were very little help.

What… happened?

And then he remembered. His eyes flew wide open and in his current state of mind he was actually able to appreciate the nearly pitch black lighting of the space around him. His breathing sounded uncomfortably loud and felt even worse. Where was he? And how badly, exactly, had he been hurt? Where was everyone else?

"… 'rgan?" he rasped out in a voice even he could barely hear. Only silence answered him. Fear gripped him, so hard that it seized his breath for a long time. "Sherlock? John?"

No one replied. There was no movement around him, either. Slowly yet surely Spencer began to realize that he was really, throughoutly alone.

Spencer swallowed, not liking the fact that he could taste blood. Despite the fact that his head was still foggy and hurt awfully he attempted to assess his condition. Tried to decide if it was safe to move, at least a little.

His head seemed to be the biggest and most acute problem. It felt like someone had run a sledgehammer at it, repeatedly, and he was almost sure that he could feel dried blood. If there was a wound no one had bothered to dress it. His chest area and hands hurt as well. Lifting one hand to see he shivered at the sight of blisters and burned skin.

Had he… been running or turning towards the explosion? Because nothing else would explain the direction of his injuries. Why would he have done that?

He was hurting all over but by some miracle all his limbs were damaged yet very much able to move. There seemed to be several shallow and a few worryingly deep wounds on him, some most likely becoming infected already, but he could worry about them later because none of them was bleeding profusely. Right now his other main concern was his back which, just like his ribs, was hurting so bad that he wanted to scream.

Was his spine damaged? Because if it was moving around might not be a good idea at all. But… He couldn't just stay there on the floor, either.

He counted the risks carefully. Using up all his medical knowledge and mulling over statistics at such speed that might've left most breathless. And then, deciding that staying where he was would be a more likely course towards unwated scenarios, he began to struggle his way up.

It wasn't fast or painless. He grunted and nearly screamed several times, tears of agony pooling into his eyes. He was trembling pitiably and sweating while he finally swayed to his feet.

As soon as he was up his foot moved, connecting with a trap wire.

* * *

The instant Sherlock woke up again his mind was lucid. His eyes darted around when he heard voices. Mycroft and JJ stood a few steps away from his bed, talking quietly. There looks on their faces didn't promise anything good.

Mycroft was, of course, the first one to notice that he was awake. "Ah. How very nice of you to join us, brother dear."

Sherlock frowned, determinedly pushing himself to a sitting position although everything inside him screamed against it. He needed answers, immediately. "Someone… was here, last night. Gave me something."

Mycroft nodded solemnly. "A nurse noticed that your I.V. bag had been touched. The liquid's color was off. She changed it immediately but there's no telling how much of the substance made it to your blood stream. My men and the FBI are going through the security footage to find out who visited your room."

"And they've taken blood tests", JJ joined in. Was that smile supposed to be a comforting one? There was pain and fear in her eyes. "It won't be long until we find out what they gave you."

Sherlock wasn't quite so optimistic. He had more pressing matters in his mind, though. "And John?"

Mycroft's hesitation sent a unexpected stab of sheer terror through him. The government official sighed. "He's… been found. At the moment he's in surgery."

Sherlock's left eyebrow twitched dangerously. "With all your connections… _That's _all you can tell?" he growled.

Mycroft gave him a dry look. "I'm aware that patience has never been your greatest virtue. But do try to behave yourself. I have the best possible people out there trying to save Dr. Watson's life. And yours."

Like that would've been enough. Sherlock was about to shoot back a vicious remark but all of a sudden his eyelids began to droop heavily. His transport was failing him although it was only minutes from when he woke up. How infuriating.

JJ offered him another smile. Probably would've given his shoulder a squeeze if she hadn't realized that such might not be appreciated. "Try to get some sleep, alright? We'll make sure that you'll be safe. All of you."

* * *

Aaron frowned while observing the interrogation of Duncan Durbin, his experienced eyes reading the young man's body language easily.

He saw terror, a lot of it. He saw confusion, even shock. But he couldn't detect even a single trace of lie.

Duncan did feel guilty and horrified over what had happened, that much was obvious. But the man didn't seem to be behind the explosion. Nor did he know where Spencer was.

Was their best lead of no good, after all?

"_I… I didn't kill those people, I swear!_" Duncan pleaded with the officer interrogating him. "_I could never…!_"

The officer wasn't affected by the pitiable tone, instead bit back twice as hard. "_Well, if you didn't… Then who did?_"

Now that was the million dollar question.

Aaron was so focused on the interview that he shuddered as someone stood beside him. There was a morose look on chief Stamson's face. "My men checked out the house, despite Mrs. Durbin." The man lifted a evidence bag so that he could see it. "They found this."

Aaron looked down. Instantly a shiver crossed him. The piece of evidence was, without a doubt, Sherlock's scarf.

"_There's… I haven't told you something._" And just like that Duncan had everyone's undivided attention. The man looked like a scared child. "_Sam, my brother…_" A trembling hand traveled through the man's hair. A visible testament to his internal turmoil. "_Oh god, he's going to be so mad…! I wasn't supposed to…_"

"What_ about your brother?_"

Duncan took a deep breath. Then looked up, if not exactly bravely. "_He… He's supposed to be in London. But… He isn't. He came back home._"

Aaron and chief Stamson exchanged a look. The interrogating officer leaned forward. "_When did he return?_"

Duncan's answer wasn't much more than a whisper. Still they heard loud and clear. "_A week before Alyssa's death._"

Chief Stamson shivered. Aaron's jawline tightened. "It looks like we'll have to start looking for Samuel Durbin."

* * *

Spencer stilled with wide eyes and prepared himself for anything, his leg never moving even an inch from the deceitfully harmless looking wire. The seconds that dragged by felt like a eternity. And then he heard a unfamiliar voice that'd clearly been altered.

'_Good morning, Spencer. I'm sorry that I couldn't be there to greet you in person but at the moment I'm very busy. Don't worry. I'll make sure that we get to meet each other again before this is all over. I can't wait to see your face when you finally figure it all out._'

Spencer shivered, his eyes darting around. Perhaps he was alone but there had to be a camera keeping an eye on him. Surely his captor hadn't been through all this trouble to miss out on seeing his struggles. And yes, there was a entirely too familiar blinking red light in the right upper corner of the tiny, dirty walled room. Right next to a metallic door. He toyed with the thought of the door being open although he knew it to be fool's hope.

'_Make no mistake, this is a death row. And you're fast approaching the execution stand. Just like several other people. You'll all be with Alyssa soon enough._'

Spencer stiffened, a sick feeling rising within. Derek, Sherlock and John… Were they still alive? Did they make it through the blast? And what about the rest of the team?

He'd have to get out and…!

'_I'd advice you not to think about it a lot. It's easy to go insane like that, worrying too much. Instead you really should think on your sins. On what it was that brought you here. Your mistakes have cost lives, you see. Soon enough they'll cost those of your teammembers as well._'

Spencer's heart was racing. Before breathing had been painful. At the moment it was fast approaching unbearable.

He didn't want to die but if that was inevitable then so be it. But his team, his family… He'd _never_ forgive himself if…

He couldn't control the urges anymore. He managed to stumble the total of three steps before his self control gave out and he threw up loudly. He didn't like the traces of blood visible in the vomit. Not that they would've been his main concern at the moment.

The voice went on a couple of seconds after he was done, as though having anticipated his every move. '_Now… I couldn't resist the idea of making this even more fun. Turn around and you'll see just how interesting this little grand finale of ours is going to be._'

Spencer obeyed although he knew from the start that he'd regret it. The first thing he registered was a clock counting time backwards. That alone was enough of a warning. And then he saw the mirror, reflecting his bloodied, battered image. His eyes slid downwards and finally he understood why breathing hurt so much.

There, firmly trapping his back and both sides, was what looked like a giant metallic spider. It was squeezing him so tightly that it was almost unberable. Judging by the blood it dug through his skin.

'_Every five minutes that thing around you tightens. To a point where it crushes you at the exact moment the timer hits zero. Well, you may be wishing for death long before that. There is, however, a chance to wiggle your way out of this._' There was a dramatic pause. '_Soon a phone will ring. It'll be a person that has no idea of your current predicament but who may actually be able to bring you help. There's a catch, though. Anyone who enters this building dies._'

Spencer swallowed. Then chuckled bitterly. So it was to die or cause somebody else's death?

'_So, Spencer… Which one do you choose? Will you stay there and let yourself be squeezed to death? Or will you destroy somebody else's life to save your skin?_'

* * *

In the end Sherlock was stubborn enough to avoid falling asleep. As soon as he could be sure that Mycroft and JJ had left the room he opened his eyes, then began to struggle his way out of the bed. He swayed hazardously and his whole body hurt so much that he had to be causing it more damage. Yet he refused to care.

He wasn't about to just lay there when it was John's safety and his own in question!

Each step was a war he barely won but he did manage to make his way to the closet on the other side of the room. He frowned at the state of his clothes. They reeked of smoke and had both burn marks and blood stains on them. Was all that blood his own?

Well, appearances hardly mattered at the moment, he decided and began to get changed.

It was slow and extremely painful. But in the end he was fully dressed, ready to continue solving this new problem. He was just about to leave the room when his hand slipped into his coat's pocket and he froze.

Was that… a sheet of paper next to his cell phone?

Yes, it was. His hand wasn't as steady as he would've liked when he fished out the note and gave it a look. The handwriting was such he couldn't recognize. There were two series of numbers, one of which was clearly a phone number. Along with chilling words.

'_I've heard that you're good at working with a deadline, William. I'm glad. Because you have until three in the afternoon until the poison in your system makes this the last of your problems._'

Sherlock swallowed thickly. He'd sort of been expecting as much. Which didn't make his assumption being proven correct any more pleasant.

'_How many lives will you be able to save before time runs out? I'd assume that you need an assistant for a case like this. Do call that number down below. He may be the only one who can help you._'

Sherlock considered his options. Then came to the nasty realization that he had none. His jawline tightened while he dialed the number, then waited.

It took much too long before someone picked up. The voice he heard was pained, exhausted and perhaps scared. But it was definitely Spencer's. "_Hello?_"

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Sooooo, the plot thickens. Will everyone make it through this alive? The stakes have never been quite as high.

In the next chapter the Durbin's family's secrets continue to be unraveled. Plus, we've already seen Sherlock's Mind Palace. It's time to get a glimpse of Reid's.

PLEASE, do leave a note before you go! We're approaching the boiling point of this story. All aboard?

Until next time, ya all!

Take care!


	7. A Case of Identity

A/N: Typing this chapter was… a quite odd experience. You'll see why once you read it. We'll see just how it turned out…

First, though! Thank you, so very much, for you amazing reviews and love for this fic. I can't believe that a crossover fic's gained this many friends! Lots of hugs to you all.

Awkay, because I'm sure that you're eager to get on with the story… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

A Case of Identity

* * *

/ _William Holmes did his best to ignore the screams of his body and mind while he sat in the forest outside the camp, not even noticing that the night was already quite cool around him. He winced and forced back a sob that wanted to break through while he brought his knees even more tightly to his chest. His eyes were sore and he knew that tear streaks were very much visible on his cheeks. Somehow that hurt more than anything else._

_He knew that he looked pathetic._

_He shivered a little more violently at the sounds of approaching steps. For a while he feared that Trevor Durbin had come back for another round. Instead Spencer came to view, the younger child's pale face full of hesitation and worry. "William?"_

_He glared at the American. Of course he knew that none of his current torment was the other child's fault but… "Go away."_

_Spencer shook his head stunningly bravely. Instead of obeying the younger one sneaked closer. __"I… __I know that you're not okay. That it's not good to be alone now."  
William didn't manage to utter another word. Instead he watched with a degree of confusion how the smaller child took a seat beside him. The presence brought him a surprising amount of comfort._

_"We should tell the other adults", Spencer murmured eventually._

_William scoffed. "What good would that do? They wouldn't believe us."_

_Spencer flinched and bit his lip, appearing teary eyed. "Well, I believe you. Isn't that something?"_

_It was nothing but a child's word. But it _was_ something. William didn't feel quite so alone anymore._

_What they didn't know was that someone had been listening to them. Alyssa stood only steps away, her face pale and full of shock. There was a tape recorder in her hold._ /

* * *

"_Spencer? Where are you? Are you alright?_"

It took Spencer far longer than it should've to believe that Sherlock's voice on the phone was real. Responding to it was another thing entirely. Feeling cold and a little lost he glanced towards the mirror, staring at the hideous item trapping his back and sides.

"I'm… I have no idea where I am." He frowned at the sounds coming from the other end. "Are you okay? Are you in a hospital?"

"_That's not important now._" There was a great deal of impatience in the Brit's voice. "_The one who took you… Did he leave you the cell phone? Or did you find it?_"

Despite the fact that his mind was jumping all over the place those words struck Spencer. Made wheels turn in his head. "It… was hidden to a hole in the wall."

"_Was there something else?_"

A while ago Spencer had been too focused on the cell phone to even think that there might be something more. But now that he reached out a hand and tried again… "Yes!" he announced. A little hesitant at first he pulled out a firmly closed test tube. He frowned. "There's… He left some sort of a drug. Do you know what it is?"

"_Yes._" It came out very sharply. "_It's a dosage of antidote. I need to get there, now._"

Spencer licked his lips. Terror reared its head inside him. "You can't come here", he announced firmly, despite the fact that his voice wasn't perfectly steady. "He… He said that anyone who comes here dies. So stay away."

"_I don't exactly have that option_", Sherlock snapped. "_So let's try to figure out where you are, quickly. Tell me everything you know._"

Spencer didn't want Sherlock to find him, didn't want the detective to risk his life. Besides, he'd been honest before. He didn't have the slightest clue of where he was. But maybe a little bit of fool's hope wouldn't hurt. "It's… very moist and cold. I'm pretty sure that this is a basement. I haven't heard anything that'd reveal more." His frown deepened. "I… think I woke up for a while, at Alyssa's apartment. There was a man."

"_You saw the one who did this?_"

Spencer really, honestly tried to reply. But as it turned out his highly uncomfortable vest chose that moment to tighten. It crushed around his ribs and back, applying pressure on already damaged bones. The shockwave of pain was almost more than he could take. Before he could stop himself he cried out and fell to his knees, by some miracle managing to maintain his hold on the phone.

"_Spencer?_"

* * *

Even though Samuel and Duncan Durbin were born only two years apart and a lot of people mistook them for twins they couldn't have been more different. While Duncan was the shy and scared one who often ended up being bullied Samuel was a confident, sometimes stone hard leader. Someone who was loved, hated and feared by just as many. It was no surprise that their home city wasn't enough for Samuel's restless spirit. Although he hated himself for it, just a little bit, on the day his brother took off towards London Duncan breathed a sigh of relief. It was much easier with just him, his mom and their own little world. Until, of course, Alyssa's death shattered all illusions and forced him back into the messy, horrifying real world.

After what felt like endless interrogations Duncan was finally told that he could go home but it'd be wise to not travel too far. His mother had given him an alibi. Although he definitely wasn't looking forward to facing his mother under these circumstances Duncan breathed a sigh of relief and slumped to one of the police station's chairs to wait for a agent who'd give him a ride.

The relief lasted until he heard familiar steps and a even more familiar voice. "Well, then. I should've known that you'd bring me into this mess, too."

His eyes were full of very open fear when he lifted his gaze to find Samuel glaring back at him. He gulped, instinctively shrinking further into himself. "I… I'm sorry, Sam. I know that I wasn't supposed to tell."

"No, you weren't", Samuel hissed. "It was hateful, being interrogated by those morons. Mother isn't going to be happy when I tell her that you put me through it."

Duncan looked down, feeling ashamed. He squeezed the chair so hard that it hurt. "I didn't know what else to do."

"You've managed to get us into a huge mess." Samuel leaned closer, whispered into his ear. "But don't worry, Dumbo. I'll get us out of it, as always. That's what brothers do."

Duncan barely had the time to catch his breath before a agent who introduced herself as Alex Blake appeared. "Alright, then. Ready to go?"

The brothers nodded, trailing after her quietly. Duncan wondered if Alex sensed the threat radiating from Samuel. He himself felt like he'd been led to a execution stand.

* * *

Less than twenty minutes after he left Sherlock's hospital room Mycroft received a word that John was out of the surgery and in a recovery room. His steps held no hesitation while he decided to head there, wondering about the curious thing of sentiment while his feet led the way. He wasn't surprised to discover that he wasn't the doctor's only visitor. There, in the room's dim light, he saw a familiar silhouette.

"You're welcome", the other visitor noted sharply yet quietly. Clearly worried about disturbing the patient. "I saw immediately that the IV bag's color was off and informed the staff."

"I had a feeling that it was you." Mycroft's tone was flat. "But right now your statistics state that you've killed my brother twice against possibly saving his life once. So don't expect any praises from me."

"I didn't come here for praises." Mary Watson's eyes were dangerous, those of a assassin, when she stepped into view. She was very pregnant yet one of the most hazardous things Mycroft had ever met. "Someone nearly killed my husband. Tell me everything you know so I can make that person suffer."

* * *

Duncan did his hardest to keep his head from falling apart while he sat in the car Alex Blake drove, on his way back to the place that was the source of all his fears and nightmares. At the moment he knew very clearly that he didn't want to go back home. He didn't want to go back to his mother, back to those lies and to a life that wasn't real.

To a place where he had to act like Monsters hadn't taken control of his family.

Alex gave him a look through the rearview mirror. She frowned at the expression on his face. "Are you okay back there, Duncan? You seem nauseous."

He looked helplessly towards Samuel. There was a warning in his brother's eyes. As it turned out that moment was more than Duncan could handle. His breathing became increasingly unhealthy until he realized that he was hyperventilating. His heart was pumping so fast that he could easily hear the rush of his blood.

Samuel scoffed. "Pathetic", his brother declared. "You can't even keep breathing."

Duncan's eyes blurred. It was impossible to tell if the cause was tears and shock. "Sam, please don't…!"

Alex appeared far more concerned than his brother. She parked the car to the side of the road, focusing fully on him with a frown. "Duncan, you need to calm down, alright? Ignore Samuel and focus on my voice instead. Concentrate on me."

Duncan did, he really did with all his might. But unfortunately so did Samuel. The sneer that echoed in the vehicle didn't sound entirely human.

"Shut up, bitch."

And faster than a thought Samuel lunged forward.

* * *

It took Spencer much, much longer than it should've before he overcame the pain enough to return to himself. He gasped, not daring to move an inch from where he'd slumped to the floor although his position was almost unbearable. He gasped, once, twice, entirely too familiar with how off the sound was. The pain wasn't relenting and despite his current state of mind Spencer understood why much too clearly.

There'd been significant damage this time. Something had been torn, punctured or broken. Which meant that he had even less time than he'd feared.

"_Spencer?_" Did Sherlock sound… worried? "_What happened?_"

Spencer gulped, finally wiggling the slightest bit. Instantly his injuries snarled back with venom and he had to bite his lip to hold back a groan. "I'm… It was nothing. I just… jolted something."

"_Why do I find that hard to believe?_" Sherlock remarked dryly. The Brit's voice was a lot tighter than usual. "_This puzzle needs to be solved quickly. You already told me that you woke up a little after the explosion. Tell me what you saw then._"

Spencer sighed. It seemed that his headache was escalating. "I… don't remember. I hit my head so it's all foggy."

"_Then think harder._" Clearly Sherlock had no intention of letting him get away quite so easily. "_Search your Mind Palace. Something this important has to be there._"

Spencer took a deep breath although it hurt, as though preparing for a dive. Then closed his eyes and focused. Entered his mind.

It was like crashlanding to a deserted, extremely well lighted library. Aside marble walls, floor and ceiling there were ivory white rows upon rows of files. At the moment one of them was glowing golden light that was so bright it nearly blinded him. He approached, working his hardest to keep his steps from faltering.

And just like that he was _there_ once more. On the floor with his ears ringing and head pounding, barely conscious. _Everything _hurt. A hurricane of sensations went through him in waves.

Spencer gasped, all the pain that followed immediately after the explosion taking over him once more and mixing with present agony. It was almost impossible to focus on anything else but the physical sensations. He was on fire, crushed to death.

"Spencer!" Sherlock's voice was firm and commanding. All of a sudden the man was sitting on the floor next to him with a expression he recognized very well. "You need to concentrate. Forget about your transport. Tell me what you see right now."

Spencer swallowed thickly, turning his head just enough to see. A few moments later he wished he never had. The devastation he found blurred his eyes.

"Morgan…" It wasn't much more than a whimper. The man lay at the bottom of the stairs, turned into a recovery position. Several wounds had been dressed, with barely existent bandages but still. That struck him as odd and he frowned, struggling to break free from the emotional turmoil. "Someone's… Someone helped him. Gave him first aid."

Barely remembering that the events weren't nothing but memories he allowed his attention to wander, not wanting to look at his injured friend any longer. That was when he saw Sherlock, which was bizarre considering that to his mind the man was right next to him. The detective had made it a bit further from the explosion than Derek but that didn't spare him from all the damage. Again there was clearly present evidence of first aid.

"Spencer?"

Spencer exhaled a shuddering breath. "I… You were hurt, too."

"I'm fine." Sherlock's voice was reassuringly firm. "Keep talking and focus."

"_Lieutenant__!_" This time the voice wasn't Sherlock's. Readjusting his attention once more Spencer saw John, right above him. The doctor looked like he'd been to hell and back, barely conscious and clearly injured himself, but there was fire hot determination in those eyes. "_Good, that's good. Try to stay awake, alright? You'll be fine but we need to keep you from going into a shock._"

Spencer blinked once, both in the memory and in his Mind Palace.

"PTSD", Sherlock murmured barely audibly as soon as he'd told the man what he was seeing. Then, in a few seconds, the voice came out a lot more strongly. "Keep going. What else do you see? We're missing something."

Spencer opened his mouth to snap that there was _nothing_ more to report. Until he realized that the scene was joined by another person. Silent yet confident steps entered the apartment. He tried to warn John, who had his back towards the door, but couldn't muster the breath for words. And then the arrival was already grabbing the doctor.

Despite his injuries the Brit put up a mighty fight. "DON'T TOUCH ME!" The struggle that ensued was fierce, especially considering that one party of it was injured. In the end John managed to aim such a kick at the intruder that the man stumbled, providing an opening. As fast as he could John fled.

Visibly seething with rage the attacker remained perfectly still. Most likely debating whether he should head after John or focus on his other victims. In the end the attention locked on Spencer.

Spencer tried to hang on, he really did. But his consciousness was fleeing far too quickly and stubbornly. The last thing he saw before the broadcast ended was the attacker's face.

And his eyes widened.

* * *

Staring at the clipboard full of clues they had Aaron frowned, deep in thought and more than a little frustrated. The puzzle pieces were all right there, before his very eyes. So what was he missing? What did they keep on not noticing?

Not for the first time he wished that Spencer was there to help them clear it all out.

So absorbed by his thoughts he was that it took long before he realized that his phone was ringing. He accepted the call in a flash upon noticing that it was Penelope. "Anything?"

"_You… could say that._" She sounded far too shaken to his liking. "_So… __Samuel Durbin did move to London a few years ago. Apparently he… didn't end up into such a good place. Drugs, thefts, assaults… He changed his name and erased all traces to his past somewhere along the way so it took me a while to find him. I don't think that anyone else has made the connection yet._"

Aaron's muscles tensed up. A part of him was already full of dread. "Do you have any idea where he is now?"

"_Yeah, I do. He's at Barts' morgue._" Penelope's voice was unnaturally tight. "_Hotch, Samuel never came back to Colorado Springs. He's been dead since a couple of days before Alyssa's murder._"

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: So, we know who did it, now. But is there more to the story? And is the whole crew going to live to see the conclusion of this case?

Thoughts? Questions? Comments in general? You know where to type them. (grins)

Until next time, you all! I really hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!

* * *

**Violet**: It still baffles me that you compliment those cliffies. (grins) But seriously, I'm thrilled to hear that you're enjoying the story! I truly hope that it manages to keep you captivated.

Gigantic thank yous for the review!


	8. The Case of Samuel Durbin

A/N: Since it's Sunday I figured that I owe you guys an update. (grins)

First, though… Thank you, so much, for your lovely reviews! They really do mean a lot, you know? (hugs)

On a side note… I'm THRILLED that so many of you asked me about Samuel and seem to be wondering just who the killer is. The secret will finally be unraveled in this chapter. Please, let me know if any of you guessed correctly in beforehand! I love it when readers catch on.

Awkay, since it's plain rude to keep stalling… Let's rock! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

**WARNING!** This chapter WON'T be an easy read because it provides quite a visual to someone's very sick mind. It was a tough balancing act to keep this from turning into M-rated.

* * *

The Case of Samuel Durbin

* * *

/ _Duncan Durbin had been told from a very early age that his father was a sick, disgusting man. A true monster. He wasn't able to connect those accusations to his father's nightly visits to his room. To him those were a part of his normal ever since he was five years old. It wasn't until he was twenty Duncan began to recognize the disease for what it was._

_On a perfectly ordinary summer day he was sitting in a park, reading a book and trying to make himself as unnoticeable as possible. Despite the fact that years upon years had passed people still remembered and he preferred not meeting those certain looks. He was lost in the story when all of a sudden a sound claimed his attention. A giggle._

_Duncan's head snapped up, reacting instantly to the Siren's call. His heartbeat sped up and if he hadn't been too worked up by other matters he would've noticed that certain parts of him were hardening. What his hunter's gaze found was a little girl who couldn't be older than six. Very beautiful with her long, blonde hair and big blue eyes. But Duncan knew, on a level of reason, that there was no way he should've found her attractive in the way he did._

_That's why he ran away as fast as he could, desperate to get away from the monsters whispering in his head. As soon as he made it to a remotely safe distance he threw up, loudly. Tears were streaming down his cheeks and his whole body was shaking so badly that standing up was a massive struggle._

_So he truly was his father's son, just like his mother had always said._

_It was already night when Duncan finally stumbled home, his steps heavy and full of shame. He was glad that his mother had fallen asleep to her armchair. There was no way he would've been able to look at her in the eyes. Moving as silently as he could in his current condition he made his way to the bathroom and opened one of the three drawers below the sink. There, staring right back at him, was a nearly full bottle of his mother's sleeping pills._

_For the next two hours Duncan stood perfectly still, staring at the bottle. Considering his options. Weighing the value of his life and the possible hazard he brought on the world._

_But in the end he didn't grab the pills. Instead he took his cell phone and dialed although he was barely able to hold the item. Tears blurred his line of vision and by the time his brother's familiar voice picked up he was sobbing so hard that he could barely speak. "Sam, I… I need you to come home. Please."_ /

* * *

"Please, Samuel…!" Duncan pleaded helplessly while staring at his brother who was watching Alex Blake's unconscious form with entirely too keen eyes. Tears were pooling into his eyes but none of them spilled yet. "Leave her alone. She… She hasn't done anything. Don't hurt her."

Samuel looked at him with some pity and a lot of irritation. "She's seen too much. Do you want to be locked up again?"

"Yes!" Duncan cried out. And meant it from the bottom of his heart. He'd already killed and hurt several people. Wasn't a life in prison the least he deserved? One tear rolled, no more. "Yes. When… When this is all over… I want to go to prison. I belong there. We both do."

Samuel stared at him with open disbelief for a while. Then snorted. "Pathetic." But at very least the older Durbin finally turned away from Alex and emerged from the vehicle. "Now move it. If you really want to leave this pest alive we'd better hurry. There's still a lot we need to do before this is over."

Duncan nodded eagerly. There was no hesitation in his body while he followed Samuel. The brothers vanished like they'd been nothing but a trick of someone's imagination.

* * *

/ _Samuel Durbin – or Trask, because he preferred using his mother's maiden name – was twenty-five when he stood in front of his childhood home, years after his brother's phone call. His heart was heavy while he stared at the cursed building, feeling how each and every single nightmare of his past came back to life. He could practically feel his father's hands on him. All those disgusting words the man uttered, once upon a time, echoed in his head._

_It was pathetic, really, that he was a grown man yet still believed in monsters._

_In the end Samuel took a deep breath and decided to face the dragon. He was pleased to discover that his mother wasn't at home. He hadn't spoken to her since he left the country behind and wasn't enthusiastic to do so now. The house wasn't abandoned, though. His skin crawled and ice filled all of him when he heard a entirely too familiar cry of agony and fear._

_So many times in his childhood he had to listen to Duncan's pained whimpers and now…_

_Moving faster than a thought Samuel dashed towards his brother's room. The sight he encountered made him freeze to the spot. "Jesus Christ…!"_

_His brother was most certainly there, with a little girl that had long, black hair and just as dark eyes. Mercifully they were both fully dressed but the tears running down the child's face told all necessary. The wrappings of two ice-creams lay on the floor._

_Duncan became paralyzed by shock as well, all color disappearing from the younger man's face. The child saw her opportunity and ran away, so fast that she nearly stumbled. Samuel's mouth opened but in the end he couldn't come up with anything to say. What words would've been appropriate for such a situation?_

_Duncan was still staring at him, his eyes full of prayer. The man seemed ready to collapse to the spot. "Please, Sam…! Help me…!"_

_And on that day, seeing just how sick his brother was, Samuel did just that. With one phone call he managed to get his brother the necessary documents for a stay in London. "James? I need a little favor…"_

_And, he announced to Duncan, as soon as they'd get to Britain he'd make sure that his brother would be admitted to the best facility there was. He'd finally receive the help he needed. The tears the younger Durbin shed after Samuel's news were those of relief._

_How were they supposed to know that the help came hopelessly too late?_ /

* * *

" … _can't be you_ …", Spencer's voice murmured. The man sounded more than halfway on his way to unconsciousness. The words could barely be understood. And then it became quiet. Entirely too much so.

Sherlock's chest tightened considerably. In some other situation he might've wondered when, exactly, this became more than just another puzzle to solve. "Spencer?" There was no response. "Spencer!"

Nothing but silence answered him. And soon enough the phone call was over. For some reason the realization made Sherlock ache.

For a few moments Sherlock stood still, his brain whirring around madly. Until he finally came to a conclusion. He was even faster than usual to fire off a message. And in a few seconds he had the name and address to whom the cell phone Spencer called with had been registered.

_Samuel Durbin_

Sherlock gritted his teeth, chills running through him at the much too familiar surname. Of course he knew that there was only one logical reason why the number hadn't been concealed. Clearly Samuel wanted to be found.

Sherlock was walking right into a trap. But John and Spencer were both injured, badly, and there was poison coursing through his own veins. So he made a decision that came a little too naturally for him and chose not to care.

Doing his best to hide how much moving around hurt Sherlock left the hospital, trying not to wonder just what he was headed towards.

* * *

/ _Everyone imagined that Samuel would become something big when he moved to London. That'd he'd achieve great things. But unfortunately the demons hunting his steps were even greater._

_Every night was full of nightmares. His every breath was polluted by such rage and shame that couldn't be washed away with even the strongest alcohol. In the end he simply let the tide pull him under._

_Samuel sunk deep. Worked with people he should've ran away from. Did things that made the guilt a thousand times deeper. He hurt more people than he cared to count. In a way he became a monster as well but at least he wasn't the same as his father and for a while that was enough._

_Until a mysterious woman found him through Facebook. She went by the name Maureen Stones and in a while she'd somehow become the single bright spot in his life. Everything became far more complex when she revealed that her official name was Alyssa Stiles and it was her fault that his father was dead._

_At first he lashed out although he wasn't entirely sure why. Accused her of horrible things even though the humiliation over his father's deeds burned under his own skin. It took a long time. Months, through which she remained persistent in a way he couldn't understand. But eventually he managed to convince himself that his father's sins weren't his. And he finally asked her why she chose to contact him._

_Her response was simple and honest. '_Because everyone else seems to have deleted him and that camp from their memories. And even if I didn't go through what you all did… I need you to know that you're not the only one fighting those ghosts._'_

_From that point their relationship grew and blossomed. All of a sudden Samuel was looking forward to visiting United States and London became Alyssa's second home. The eight months they were officially together were the best in Samuel's life._

_It was too bad, really, that Samuel didn't realize the mistake he made upon writing about her to Duncan. That he still didn't quite realize how ill his brother was._

_On one rainy night he frowned, already half asleep, when there was a knock on his door in the middle of the night. He went to open without a lot of thought. Several of his so called friends tended to visit at odd hours, anyway. Instead of one of them, however, he saw his brother._

_Samuel blinked twice, subconsiously backing away a step. "Duncan? What… are you doing here?" Wasn't his brother supposed to be in a psychiatric institution right outside London? He made sure personally that the younger man was admitted there._

_Duncan, drenched wet and eyes wild, breathed heavily while pushing his way in and closing the door. "Is it true?" the younger Durbin demanded in a barely comprehensible shriek. "Are you… Are you really in love with her?"_

_Samuel tried to stay calm although something in the other's eyes scared him. He nodded slowly. "I am. She's the best thing that's ever happened to me. And… She can help you, too. If you let her."_

_Duncan laughed hysterically, tears filling his eyes. "Help me?" the man sneered. "Help me? Samuel, because of her the only person in this world who could've understood me is dead!"_

_Something inside Samuel went very cold, right there. "You've talked about this with me and your therapists. Our father was a monster."_

_The first punch came so swiftly and unexpectedly that it sent him to the floor. By then Duncan was crying openly and shaking pitiably. "Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!" the man screamed at the top of his lungs, with the despair of a dying wild animal. "I'm not a monster!"_

_Samuel's eyes widened. Finally, finally, he saw. Much too late. "Duncan…!"_

_The second punch nearly rendered him unconscious, made stars dance in his line of vision. It was the third one that killed him. Hit his skull in a manner that it couldn't handle._

_The last thing Samuel Durbin saw of this world were his brother's eyes that looked just like their father's, and the last emotion he felt was tremendous defeat._ /

* * *

Samuel Durbin… was dead. Their strongest suspect couldn't possibly be behind Alyssa's death or the explosion. And nothing made sense anymore.

All they remaining BAU-team knew was that at some point they'd made a huge mistake.

Aaron, JJ and David had just been going through the newly added clues, desperately trying to bring sense into things, when Penelope entered the room. She appeared pale and quite openly terrified. "I… I was just trying to call Blake and tell her to bring Duncan back for further questioning, like you asked. But I… I can't reach her."

The room's temperature dropped instantly. Aaron and David exchanged a meaningful, dark glance until the unit chief all but snapped at the person who least deserved his frustrated fury. "Then go and try again."

"Hotch." JJ sounded just as rattled as Penelope did, which instantly caught the agents' attention. She was staring at a computer's screen with horrified, disbelieving eyes. "Take a look at this."

They did. As it turned out they were watching a surveillance tape from the police station. Duncan was there, sitting in the hallway with a anguished look on his face. Talking to someone although the man was very much alone. The man didn't stop talking until Alex appeared. When the two left they saw Duncan casting nervous glances to his left.

For the longest time they all simply stared. Too stunned to produce a word. Unable to comprehend how they managed to miss something of that magnitude. "What the hell was that?" David uttered in the end.

"Maybe I can answer that." They turned to see a tall, decidedly British man with a umbrella. "My name is Mycroft Holmes. I represent the British government and I have the authorization to work on this case. A citizen of England has been killed and two more have been attacked, after all."

"Holmes?" David's eyebrow bounced up. "Are you Sherlock's…?"

"That's hardly relevant right now." Mycroft handed them a very thick file. "Those would be Duncan Durbin's patient records from a English psychiatric hospital. I just received the file. Patient confidentiality issues can be infuriatingly tricky."

"So he was a psychiatric patient", JJ murmured.

Mycroft gave her a unimpressed glance. "That much would be obvious, yes." The man then went on without wasting a second. "He was a patient for a very long time, without showing a lot of signs of progress. Until he escaped a while ago, only hours before his brother's murder. We have very strong evidence to prove that he killed Samuel. Shortly afterwards my contacts were able to pick up hints of him in the United States. We have a reason to suspect that he came here under one of Samuel's fake identities."

"He killed Alyssa", David realized.

"Or Samuel did." The sight of Duncan talking to thin air kept burning Aaron's head. "He may have developed a split personality."

Mycroft nodded. "He was already showing signs at the ward. According to his nurses' notes he talked to his father for a while. It was fixed with readjusting his medication, however."

"We need to find Spence, fast", JJ mused in a much too tight voice.

"Yes, and Sherlock as well." To a sudden Mycroft's voice might've sounded flat. Not to a trio of profilers. "It seems that a hospital isn't enough to contain him. He's gone off wandering on his own."

The agents exchanged looks, knowing exactly what Sherlock's disappearance might mean. Before they had to voice their thoughts, however, Mycroft received a text message. The Brit read it and muttered something darkly under his breath, then showed the message to them. "Well, it would seem the we don't have to search long."

Ther was nothing but an address. Along with a few ominous words. '_Could be dangerous._'

* * *

/ _After washing his brother's blood from his hands the first thing Duncan did was to take one of the older man's forged passports and book a flight ticket to Colorado Springs. They were practically twins, anyway. The plan worked wonderfully. His mother accepted him back with open arms, no questions asked or explanations demanded. All she wanted was to have one of her boys home. But although Duncan may have escaped London he couldn't run away from the voices in his head._

_Samuel's death was an accident. A tragedy, but not something that happened on purpose. Only that mantra kept Duncan's mind from collapsing completely._

_Almost._

_As he lay on his bed in his childhood home, the drugs he'd stolen from his brother's apartment still coursing in his veins like sweet poison, he wasn't alone. The ghosts from his past were there once more, sneering at him. Amused by his pitiable condition._

_And all of a sudden Samuel's ghost wasn't just a voice in his head. His brother lay there on the bed beside him, just as real as he'd always been. Alive once more. "You truly are pitiable, brother", the older one chuckled. "Just look at yourself. Is that really the best you can do right now?"_

_Duncan unleashed a choked sob, rubbing his face roughly with both hands. "What am I supposed to do?" he whimpered. "This world… I'll never have a place in it. Not without father helping me understand."_

_"Then make sure that the one who took him away will pay." Samuel's eyes blurred together with their father's and suddenly Duncan didn't quite know which one he was looking at. Which ghost was whispering to him. "I know that you've been planning it for a long time. That you have a wonderful little web pulled together. Put it to good use."_

_Duncan's eyes flashed hazardously. And finally he felt alive again, for the first time since his brother's death. "I will", he murmured._

_It wasn't much later Alyssa was dead._ /

* * *

Spencer must've collapsed at some point. Because when he began to wake up, slowly and very painfully, he realized that the cell phone had been taken away from him. He also lay in a different position from the one to which he'd fallen and he knew for a fact that he wouldn't have been able to shift on his own.

Sure enough, in a few seconds he heard the same voice that spoke to him from a recording when he first woke up. "You're awake. Good. You're just in time for the grand finale."

It took far more effort than it should've but eventually Spencer managed to lift his head. He blinked twice at the much too familiar face he found. Inhuman cold filled his whole body. "Trevor…?" How… was it possible that the man hadn't aged a day? None of it made sense to his pained, concussed and barely conscious head.

The man chuckled. "Not quite." His captor, who'd been sitting on a metallic stool, leaned forward. There was a threatening gleam in those eyes. "Trevor had two sons. Did you know that?" The killer went on without waiting for his answer. "Duncan… isn't able to join us, I'm afraid." All of a sudden a long, jagged edged knife was pulled out. "But you and I… We're going to have a lot of fun together."

Spencer's eyes widened for a fraction before he managed to get a hold of himself. His heart was racing madly. "You don't have to do this."

"To answer your former question…", the man went on like he'd never even made a sound. The killer's whole focus was on his weapon of choice. "My name is Samuel. And like I said, we'll have some nice quality time together before Sherlock and your team show up."

Spencer swallowed loudly. The wave of nausea that ravished him had nothing to do with the state of his head. "You're not going to get out of this", he pointed out.

Samuel smirked in a chilling manner. "Oh, don't make a fool out of me, Spencer. It's like I told you. Whoever enters this place dies." Those eyes flashed. "If Duncan shows up don't tell him this… but none of us is going to make it out of here alive."

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: It was one of those situations where the answer was hidden right in front of you all along. (grins) But now… How will the plan be completed? Will our heroes make it through this alive?

Soooo… Any good, at all? Do let me know!

Awkay, I've really gotta get going now. I really hope that you'll all join in for the next one!

Take care!


	9. The Colorado Springs Puzzle

A/N: So, you all, it's the updating day! (grins) But, before getting to the actual chapter…

THANK YOU, so very much, for all your reviews and support to this story. We're nearing the end of this long ride so it means a lot. (hugs)

Awkay, then… Let's march on, shall we? I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride!

* * *

The Colorado Springs Puzzle

* * *

/ _Alyssa was only a child – a genius one but still – when she recorded the quiet conversation about Trevor Durbin between Spencer and William. She knew that she was doing the right thing. How was she supposed to know the gravity of the events she pushed into motion?_

_Mere hours after revealing it all to the camp's head director she was in her room, searching. Cold filled her when she realized that what she was looking for wasn't where she'd left it. And just then Trevor Durbin's voice sounded from behind her._

_"Looking for this?" He was holding her diary with a menacing look in his eyes. He clicked his tongue. "I knew that you'd be trouble, you little shit. Didn't your parents teach you to stay out of other people's business?"_

_Alyssa swallowed hard, trying to back away from him. Her heart was thumping so hard that it hurt. __"I… __I'm not going to let you hurt them", she managed, with fire there shouldn't have been in her. "Not anymore."_

_Trevor sighed. "Too bad. Because that loud mouth of yours is going to cost you dearly."_

_Light shone on something metallic hidden to the covers of his clothing. And at that very moment Alyssa decided not to waste another second. With every little bit of determination there was in her she ran._

_They dashed through the woods, Alyssa with bare feet that hurt immensely with every single step. Her lips opened several times but all she managed to produce was pathetic wheezing. Tears blurred her line of vision but she didn't let it slow her down._

_She should've slowed down, really. Because all of a sudden she'd ended up to the edge of a high, steep cliff. Water was raging on down below. There she finally managed to scream, her arms flailing helplessly. In the end gravity was stronger._

_She stumbled with another desperate shriek. By some miracle she managed to get a grip on the cliff's edge and held on so hard that she feared her fingers would be crushed. The sounds of approaching steps gave her a spark of relief. It lived until she saw Trevor's face._

_Seeing her peril Trevor smirked. The look in his eyes would be burned into her nightmares forever. "Goodbye, Alyssa." So saying he stomped on her fingers._

_Alyssa fell without being able to even shout. Down, down, down into the raging depths. And the last thing she saw before her first death was Trevor's face._

_She wasn't the only one who died on that day, however. Because less than fifteen minutes later, after washing his hands and hiding Alyssa's diary amongst his clothes, Trevor emerged from his own cabin. Only to find a group of four directors waiting for him._

_Trevor gulped, backing off. Dread coursed through his veins. "What are you doing?"_

_One of the directors approached, pulling out a knife. A pair of eyes flashed. "We'll teach you what a sick fuck like you deserves."_

_Trevor never had to live to see the full consequences of his actions. How those children he touched were damaged. How seeing him kill a little girl broke his own daughter. How his deeds pushed Samuel into a troubled path. How finding Alyssa's diary shoved Duncan into the dark. Trevor paid for the lives he shattered with his own._ /

* * *

/ _The second time Alyssa died was also the last._

_She was just preparing for a shower when she heard her cell phone announcing a new text message. Curious, she walked back to the item. Her heart jumped a little when she discovered that the message was from Samuel._

_'_Look out the window._'_

_Alyssa wasn't sure if she enjoyed surprises very much but she was curious. That's why she indeed tiptoed to the window and peered down. What she discovered brought a massive grin to her face. Butterflies began to flutter in the pit of her stomach._

_Samuel stood there, far below, peering up at her. He was holding something she couldn't quite see. Not that she would've cared much at the moment._

_He'd made it all the way to United States to surprise her…!_

_She wasted no time before making sure that all doors were open for him. While waiting she glanced towards the mirror and ran a restless hand through her hair. It was silly, really, how nervous she still was every time he stopped by. He'd already told her that he loved her. But then again, she did have quite big news…_

_Her heart jumped when steps entered the apartment. After taking a deep, steadying breath she made her way towards the door. And froze._

_The person standing there wasn't Samuel._

_She backed away and this time her heart thundered for a entirely different reason. Her head was whirring a million miles per hour. "Who are you?" she demanded breathlessly. Then it hit her sharply. "Duncan? What the hell are you doing here?"_

_Duncan smirked. "Well, Alyssa… I'm here to destroy the Orion's Belt. And I'm starting with you."_

_But oh, Alyssa wasn't about to go down easily. When Duncan approached she kicked with all her might, sending him flying backwards. Deciding to take the only chance she might get Alyssa made a dash for the apartment's door. It was doomed to fail from the start._

_The moment a hard, merciless hand grabbed her ankle Alyssa knew that it was over. But it would've been against human nature to just give up. She'd fight until her final breath._

_She kicked and punched as hard as she possibly could, feeling a twisted sense of pleasure at the sounds of her attacks meeting their targets. They caused the apartment a considerable amount of damage along the way, knocking down and dropping far more items than she could count. Alyssa barely noticed._

_It was hard to focus on anything else when all of a sudden there was a dangerously sharp knife pressed against her throat._

_Of course a large part of Alyssa knew that this ruthless monster wasn't going to let her live. But it wasn't her own life she was the most worried about. Tears filled her eyes as she cried out. "Please…! I'm pregnant!"_

_For a moment Duncan actually froze. But just as quickly as the shimmer of hope was offered it was snatched away. There was a loud, cruel snort. "Do you honestly imagine that I care?" Somehow those words managed to hurt far worse than the first stab._

_In less than five minutes Alyssa gasped breaths that she knew to be her last. For a moment, right before the end, she could've sworn that she felt Samuel there with her. A solitary tear meandered down her cheek while her eyes glazed over._ /

* * *

Aaron, Mycroft, JJ and David all had grim looks on their faces when they stood hiding outside the building where Spencer and most likely Sherlock as well were held. They sized it up with their gazes like it'd been the most dangerous opponent they'd ever faced. All of them wondering just what was waiting for them inside.

"Do you think he knows we're here?" JJ asked quietly.

"Yes", Mycroft answered without a hint of hesitation. The man's eyes strayed momentarily towards where a security camera was hidden to a corner where only keen eyes could spot it. "This is definitely a trap. Otherwise he wouldn't have let Sherlock's… friend track him down."

David groaned, running a weary hand down his face. "Oh, this is just…" The man gave the government official a moody look. "And it didn't cross your mind to give us a little warning before we came here?"

Mycroft arched an eyebrow. "Would it have stopped you if I did? Changed your plans?"

None of them answered because they all knew the truth. They wouldn't have abandoned their youngest into the hands of this lunatic. If walking into this trap was what they'd have to do to save Spencer…

With utmost caution they approached the building and entered. At the doorway Aaron held up a hand as a signal for them to stop, then pointed downwards. They all shivered at what they discovered.

A thin, red trap wire.

They exchanged looks that held both alarm and relief, breathing a collective sigh. Then, after gathering their nerves for a stilled moment, they kept moving. Knowing entirely too well that they didn't have time to waste.

They'd taken ten steps until they heard a entirely too familiar, wrenching scream of sheer agony.

* * *

The vest had tightened again, crushing bones and soft tissue on its way. And Spencer knew that his time was running out. He tried to keep quiet but couldn't stop the cry of pain from erupting. Without him knowing it a few tears escaped.

He couldn't die there, not in such a way, knowing that his friends – family – were on their way towards certain doom …

He must've lost consciousness because all of a sudden there was a hand tapping his cheek. He shivered and tried to pull away, not liking the unexpected physical contact. When all he managed was to cause himself a wave of fresh pain he moaned quietly.

Well, he accomplished at least something. The hand vanished. "Spencer?" The hushed voice was sharp, full of buried emotions. "We don't have much time so I need you to wake up properly, right now."

Spencer groaned, not liking the idea. But that voice… It was insistent and familiar. His body was obeying before he'd considered it fully. Through a bit of blur he saw Sherlock's face.

Spencer's heart sunk. He'd been hoping that his childhood friend would stay safe, stay away. But that'd never been Sherlock's style, had it?

His lips parted but just then the vest tightened again. The agony was unbelievable, took over absolutely all of him. He tried to scream out loud but there wasn't a breath of air left in him. All he could do was lay there, gasping and hoping that in one way or another the pain would finally be over soon.

"Spencer, stay with me!" Sherlock's eyes were grim, demanding and very close to desperate. Betrayed every single emotion the man had most likely worked hard to  
hide. "I'm going to get you out of here but I need you to work with me."

Spencer stared at the Brit and suddenly a newfound spark of will lit up inside him. He swallowed, trying not to notice that it tasted uncomfortably lot like blood. "The hole…", he rasped. "I marked it… with X. The cure… It's there. Take it. Quickly."

For a second or two the detective seemed genuinely surprised that he'd managed to piece it all together. Then the man clearly decided to stop wasting time. His steps were hurried when he made it to the small opening on the wall that held the only way to save his life. Spencer observed with a mixture of relief and nervousness while Sherlock first examined the substance with a frown, then consumed it with a single gulp.

_Please…!_, his mind pleaded from who or whatever was listening.

Without waiting to see what the suspicious liquid would do to him Sherlock returned to his side, helping him to a sitting position with gentleness most imagined him incapable of showing. Instantly a overwhelming sea of agony came over Spencer. The agent bit his lip so hard that it bled, knowing that he couldn't afford to slow them down.

Then Sherlock's hand froze to his vest. Spencer stiffened, bracing himself. "What is it?"

"It's locked by a number code…", Sherlock murmured, mostly to himself. A great deal of unease swept over Spencer when the hand began fumbling. Then it disappeared, pulling out a piece of paper from the covers of Sherlock's trademark coat. Through a still blurry vision Spencer managed to make out two series of numbers, a cell-phone number and something much shorter.

Spencer's heart jumped with understanding and fool's hope.

Sherlock worked on the vest for a moment, inserting the numbers. For a while nothing happened. Then, so unexpectedly that they both jumped slightly, it fell off. And Spencer _howled_, cursing himself for forgetting something vitally important.

The blades that'd been digging into his body… They came off as well, every single one of them. And thus the bleeding began.

Sherlock was in the process of staunching the bleeding, muttering words that he couldn't comprehend. With his consciousness fleeing rapidly Spencer noticed that someone entered the room. He never had the time to warn Sherlock.

"I knew that you wouldn't be able to resist the opportunity to come and see me."

* * *

Ten traps. That's how many of them Sherlock managed to tear to pieces on his way to this horrific room, to Spencer. But the one trap, the most dangerous one, he wasn't able to get his hands on was their tormentor himself.

Slowly, knowing that no rapid movements would've been a good idea, he turned his head and felt his blood run cold. Staring at them was a man holding a gun. The weapon wasn't, however, what caught Sherlock's attention. It was the face that reminded him of events that he'd already succeeded in deleting once. His eyes narrowed. "You really have become your father's son, haven't you?"

The man didn't seem exactly impressed. The hold on the gun became firmer. "Well… They did say that you're skilled."

Sherlock went on. Every passing second wasted Spencer's time but also brought help closer. "I knew the second I realized what you'd taken from Alyssa's apartment. Framed photographs." His nose wrinkled, just a little. "This is all about sentiment."

"Didn't I tell you, brother dear?" Mycroft's voice was firm and steady. "It's a chemical defect." A gun was pointed right at the killer. As much as the man claimed to detest fieldwork Sherlock hadn't seen his brother's aim miss even once, ever. "Now drop the gun, why don't you? Because let me assure you… I'm more than happy to pull the trigger."

* * *

While Duncan proceeded to make up his mind Aaron and David rushed over to Spencer, who seemed to be drifting in and out of awareness. Sheer terror could be read from both agents' eyes. They didn't have a second too much.

It would've been oh so tempting to just run out, as fast as possible. But they were still missing something. They needed Duncan to make the next move. "So you decided to leave five more traps for me to handle", Mycroft grumbled to his brother, sounding annoyed.

Duncan's eyes shifted. Only slightly but very much enough for the brothers to be able to catch it. They followed the hint subtly to discover a brand new, nearly invisible wire running in the room's shadows. Circling the entire room.

Sherlock shrugged. "I have to keep you on your toes, don't I? Surely you woldn't want to get sloppy."

By then Duncan's other hand, the one not still holding the gun, was moving as well. The Holmes' kept observing. A small device, no bigger than a pen, with a red button on top of it was scarcely visible. Finally they understood.

Mycroft sighed dramatically, sounding like a sulking child. "Must you, Sherlock? You know that fieldwork isn't my forte."

One press of a button from Duncan and an explosion would wipe away them all.

Duncan was fast but despite his injuries Sherlock was faster. One swift and experienced, stone hard punch sent the criminal down as well as both the gun and the trigger flying to a corner from which Duncan could've never reached it. The detective smirked with pleasure.

After that everything seemed to happen in slowed motion. Aaron cuffed Duncan, who didn't seem to put up much of a fight. A large group of officers from the local police appeared and the entire space was secured. In a flash paramedics followed, hurriedly starting to work on Spencer's still bleeding wounds. One of them tried to ask Sherlock questions but he wasn't listening.

In the middle of the chaos Sherlock and Spencer looked at each other, the latter still at least somewhat conscious by some miracle. The gaze held grief but also a great deal of relief. "It's over, now", Sherlock announced.

Duncan began to chuckle, right there. "Over?" The man nodded quickly, still giggling. "Oh yes. It's over. It's definitely over." There was a loudly present warning, right there.

One officer's hold on the criminal became that much tighter. Such that definitely hurt. "Alright", the man hissed. "Let's go."

Duncan smirked in a way that sent a river of chills through Sherlock, looking right at him like the other man hadn't spoken at all. "You may have made it here alive but you lost the game. Because your blogger… He won't be there waiting for you much longer."

Sherlock lost his breath for a unhealthily long moment. For a brief moment the shock – sheer terror – could probably be seen from his face before he managed to hide it. "What are you talking about?" he barked, his heart thundering in his chest. If the madman had done something to John…

Duncan's eyes flashed. "That antidote you just took… It's the only dosage. Too bad there's two people that have been poisoned."

Sherlock really, honestly couldn't breathe right there. He stared into the killer's eyes, trying to catch even the faintest trace of a lie. He couldn't find any.

_Oh my god...!_

What had he done?!

* * *

/ _For a few moments Duncan stared at John's heavily unconscious form on the pavement. Out cold, completely under his mercy. A frosty grin appeared._

_"I'm sorry, Dr. Watson…", he murmured. His hands held no hesitation while he began to prepare an injection. "This is nothing personal, understand?"_

_By the time an ambulance finally appeared he'd already injected the poison and was long gone._ /

* * *

Duncan chuckled. "You were right. This _is_ all about sentiment."

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Ooooh, crap… (winces) Just when they thought that it was over. Is everyone going to make it through this mess alive?

Thoughts? Comments? Please, do let me know! There's only one (or maybe two, at most) chapter plus an epilogue of this story left. I really hope that you'll all stick around for those!

Until next time, folks, with whichever project that may be!

Take care!


	10. His Last Trap

A/N: It's Suuunday, and the big update day. (grins and rubs hands together) Yay?

After the previous cliffie you probably want to move on with the story ASAP. But first…! Thank you, so very much, for you reviews and support! You can't even imagine how happy it makes me that this crossover gained so many friends. (HUGS)

Awkay, it's go time! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

The Final Trap

* * *

/ _The nights between Trevor Durbin's visits were the worst. The unbelievable amount of physical discomfort wasn't the worst part, nor was the never ending and constantly growing amount of shame. The most horrendous bit were the nightmares._

_They came every single night, as soon as Spencer drifted into sleep. Haunted him. Filled his head with such terrifying images that no human being deserved._

_Spencer bolted to a sitting position, his mouth open for a scream that his impossibly tight throat wasn't able to produce and cold sweat lingering on his skin. He was trembling so hard that he was barely able to sit up straight. Large tears were running down his cheeks like rivers. He didn't have to worry about sobbing for he didn't have enough breath for such._

_"Spencer?" William's voice, no matter how comforting, startled him. Bedsheets sighed while the older boy moved. "Did you have a nightmare?"_

_It took a moment before Spencer remembered. Yes, they were in a tent in a forest, camping, five other boys and two adults. Safe, with no Trevor Durbin in immediate presence. But the dream kept a firm hold of him. Spencer nodded furiously. "Yeah", he mumbled._

_William was quiet for a long time. Then whispered, careful not to wake up the other boys and the adults sleeping nearby. "Just go back to sleep. It'll be okay."_

_Spencer swallowed. All of a sudden he felt embarrassed. "Promise?"_

_"Yes, Spencer. I promise. Now sleep."_

_Trying to find some comfort from William's words Spencer forced himself to close his eyes and settled back down, still trembling. Laying there, continuing to shiver, he hoped desperately that the nightmare would be over soon. Still the monsters remained._ /

* * *

The first thing John felt when consciousness began to rush back in was intense pain. His head felt like it'd been crushed and his ribs were on fire. The worst, however, was the immense weight sitting on his chest. It made breathing excruciatingly painful and borderline impossible. And there was something stuffed into his throat. Instantly John's fighting instincts activated.

He groaned and fumbled, attempting to tear off the mystery item. Because that was what brought him the discomfort, wasn't it? What was happening to him?

All of a sudden there was a familiar voice. It echoed in his head and sounded a little static but there it was anyway. "Leave that alone. You need help with breathing, for now." A hand was laid on top of his, making whatever little movements it'd been capable of impossible. Were those… fingers on his pulse point? "You've been injured but you'll be fine. We're all going to be fine. Just focus on that and try to calm down."

John frowned, with a tremendous amount of effort managing to coax his eyes halfway open. At first he was able to make out a blurry blob. In a while it sharpened to Sherlock's silhouette. The current circumstances weren't able to hinder the surge of immense relief that flowed through John.

Alive. Alive. _Alive_.

The hand that was currently squashed by Sherlock's twitched although he wasn't fully sure what he wanted to do. The detective's longer fingers… Did they just wrap around his…? His mind sunk into a fog before he found out for sure.

"John." Was that panic? "They said that you wouldn't be awake for long, but… Stay with me, alright? Listen to me." For a moment John thought that he saw tears in Sherlock's eyes but it was most likely just a trick of his imagination. His vision was blurry, anyway. "You'll be fine. I promise. But I need you to keep fighting." There was a brief pause during which the dark almost won once more. "You're the strongest man I know. So prove it."

Despite the immense amount of pain and lingering fear John just had to smile. The best as what turned out to be his breathing tube allowed, anyway. Sherlock was right there, alive and at least remotely well. Saying that everything was going to be alright.

And, well, since when had the great Sherlock Holmes ever been wrong?

Through the glass separating the ICU-cubicle from the hallway Mycroft observed his brother and the doctor with a frown on his face. His arms were folded while something attempted to stir to life in his chest. Sentiment? Heavens, no! But something equally infuriating.

Mycroft wondered with a degree of gloom if his still talking brother even noticed that John wasn't conscious any longer, might never be again. If Sherlock noticed that the blogger's vitals were dropping dangerously. If Sherlock had admitted, even to himself, just how dangerously close he was to losing his pressure point.

Mycroft, to his misfortune, couldn't keep himself from noticing those things. And they filled him with something he was far from comfortable with. Sheer terror.

Because he knew exactly why Duncan Durbin had been careless enough to give Sherlock the chance to live. The delusional, mentally ill criminal had somehow been coherent enough to realize an obvious fact. If they were to lose John, they'd lose Sherlock as well, in every possible sense of the word. John had in some miraculous way been able to survive without Sherlock through those two long years after the Fall. Mycroft didn't imagine that his brother would be able to do the same. Not when at some point John had become pretty much Sherlock's whole world.

Sherlock would be fine physically. He'd seen his brother overcome far worse and at least this time the man was surrounded by mostly competent medical professionals. But if they lost John…

So yes, Mycroft Holmes – the ice man – was very scared. Because he didn't want to lose his brother. Couldn't even think of the possibility. In fact, he was more than willing to do anything to keep it from happening.

Somehow Mycroft had enough presence of mind to distinguish the sound of a arriving text message. He grabbed his cell-phone faster than his thoughts processed it. His eyes flashed at the words that greeted him.

'_It's been done, I'm on my way._'

* * *

While Aaron and David announced that they'd drive Duncan to the station and Alex, still recovering from her concussion, phoned that she'd stay in the hospital to keep an eye on Spencer and Derek, JJ felt that there was something she needed to do. As soon as she'd received a word that Duncan's mother had been taken to the hospital she headed towards the house. Even as she parked and emerged from her car she wondered what in the world she was doing there.

JJ stood still for the longest time, staring at the building like it was her mortal enemy. In the end she inhaled a deep breath, her shoulders tensing. It took longer than it should've before she actually moved.

There seemed to be a hazardous breath in the air when she stepped in and she shivered, folding her arms when a cold she couldn't explain filled her. She felt silly, to be so afraid of what was nothing more than a lifeless pile of wood and stone. Still her steps were tense and her hand remained close to her gun while she made her way towards where she knew Duncan's room to be.

The room was bleak, to put it kindly. Nothing but a bed and a desk sat there, along with a broken looking chair. There was also a mirror. Certain words had been written on it over and over again with what she hoped to be a red pen, like a punishment or a prayer.

'_MAKE HIS VOICE GO AWAY_'

JJ swallowed, feeling even colder than before. Of course she'd known how sick the entire Durbin family was. But this…

And then she noticed something amongst the words. At first she imagined that it was some sort of a stain. But the longer she looked the more shape it gained.

Was that… an arrow?

Knowing full well that she was making a potentially disastrous mistake JJ followed the mark to the room's most shadowy corner. Upon first glance there was nothing. But when she knocked on the wall she heard a hollow echo.

_A hole…?_

Forcing her way through the thin wallpaper wasn't much of a struggle. JJ peered into the dark, anxiously trying to see. Then she spotted the neatly folded cardboard.

What she pulled out was a pair of massive, full written Mind Maps that would've put any of BAU's to shame. They must've taken years to create. Her eyes widened with shock and horror while they drank in the words.

Plans. Possibilities. Options and backup plans, tens of them. Calculations. Estimations on innocent casualties.

That was when she noticed something that made her blood turn into ice. A vivid description of Spencer's vest. But the plan didn't end there.

JJ's body froze. Her heart forgot a valuable beat. "Oh my god…!" she gasped. Words from a conversation not too long ago played in her head.

* * *

/ _"He waited for such a long time. Explosion… Wouldn't it be… too fast? Unsatisfying?"_

_ "Sooner or later comes a point where a person decides that all that matters is finally getting the task done. He must've set several traps. This… was merely the one that snapped first."_

_"And he'll attempt to strike again."_ /

* * *

JJ's hand trembled pitiably while she pulled out her cell-phone, hoping from the bottom of her heart that she wasn't too late.

* * *

The air inside a operating theater was heavy and loaded with tension while the group gathered inside did everything there was in their power to save their patient. Dr. Gael Donovan, who had nothing but his thirty-five years of job experience to help him perform a miracle, was the one in main charge. Despite everything he'd see during his career sweat gathered to his forehead at the extend of his patient's injuries.

Broken bones, a lot of them. Internal bleeding. A horrible amount of lost blood. But somehow Dr. Spencer Reid was still hanging in there, barely but still. And for as long as the man chose to keep doing so Gael planned on fighting with him.

The younger man wasn't making it easy on him, though.

Gael groaned, his eyes narrowing. "Shit…", he muttered. "His left lung is collapsing."

"So is his blood pressure", the nurse keeping an eye on the monitors notified in a grim tone. There was a dark look in her blue eyes.

Spencer was bleeding internally from some spot that they hadn't managed to get their hands on yet, then. Gael swore inwardly, adding as much speed to his motions as he dared to without risking the patient's safety. Continued the search for a miracle.

_Come on, kid. You've been holding on for this long. Don't you dare start giving up on me now._

His patient wasn't listening, though. Or perhaps fate itself wasn't on their side. Because on the screen the blood pressure kept dropping and the man's pulse gained a far from steady rhythm. And soon the lines on the monitor's screen turned flat.

* * *

Outside the hospital Mycroft sat on a bench, eagerly breathing in air that was free of the hospital's stench. In a few moments he realized that he wasn't alone anymore. His eyes darted to the side to see just the person he'd been expecting. "So it's done?"

Taking a seat beside him, yet keeping a subtle distance, Mary Watson nodded. "I just gave it to the staff. They're… wondering if it came too late but they're trying."

Mycroft nodded, not finding any words that would've felt right for the confusing situation. With a glance that only the most keen of eyes would discover he inspected his companion. There was a bruise on Mary's face and shadows in her eyes.

For the first time he was able to see a touch of a loving wife and mother to be under the assassin's mask.

* * *

/ _Thirty-nine years old Dr. Damian Murphy, a extremely gifted chemist with shortcut, wild reddish hair and scared brown eyes that were shielded by glasses, was once the honor student of his class. Still he had been working for Moriarty's organization almost from the moment he graduated. It wasn't the honest work his mother would've wanted for him and he was terrified of the man but the money was too powerful of a temptation. During those endless years he was forced to do a lot of things that he'd never forgive himself for._

_When the news broke that Moriarty was dead Damian sighed a long, deep breath of relief. He really shouldn't have. Because just when he'd lulled himself into safety one encounter brought his past haunting with venom._

_Damian entered his office and out of instinct tried to switch on the lights. Nothing happened. And that's when he smelled it. __Claire de la Lune._

_In less than four seconds he was able to distinguish the person sitting only steps away. A woman, apparently heavily pregnant. Which didn't make the air around her any less dangerous. "Do not run, Dr. Murphy. If you do I'll stop you to the spot."_

_Despite her threat Damian backed away a step. Just one. Cold sweat lingered on his skin while his heart sped on. "Who the hell are you?!"_

_The intruder didn't seem eager to answer. "Six years ago Moriarty's associate, Samuel Durbin, delivered you a… request. You were to develop a poison that no blood tests would be able to detect. One that kills the victim in a specific amount of hours."_

_Damian gulped and stared at the threatening silhouette. Unable to move. Barely able to breathe. "Yes", he admitted helplessly in the end._

_"Now, you claimed that you developed only one dosage of antidote. But I know, for a fact, that you always produce two dosages of everything you invent. The second one is just for you, a memento. So, I'd like to propose a deal…" A knife flashed in the dark. "You give me the remaining dosage of antidote for that particular poison. Or I'll show you just how creative I can be with this thing."_ /

* * *

"You do realize that your involvement can never be discovered, don't you?"

Mary gave Mycroft a dry look. "Yes. You've made that much perfectly clear." There was a prolonged moment of silence. "I hope that you understand now that I don't want any harm on your brother. I understand how much the two of them need each other."

Mycroft's eyes were made of stone when he glared at her. "Your presence in my brother's life will always be a threat to him. That's something I've chosen to tolerate, albeit not gladly, because as it is there's no other option." His tone was nothing short of deadly. "But trust me, Mrs. Watson… If he's ever harmed because of you again I'll make sure that there'll be nothing left of your pathetic existence. Is that clear?"

Mary's expression remained impressively nonplussed. "Yes. Perfectly."

The reluctant comrades got up almost simultaneously, as though out of some silent agreement. Mary was already about to walk away until she spoke once more. "You'll let me know as soon as you know if the antidote worked, won't you?"

Mycroft gritted his teeth. "Yes." But only because Sherlock would've wanted him to.

With that as their goodbyes Mycroft walked back into the hospital. Mary made her way into the shadowy streets, not looking back even once because it would've been too painful. While she disappeared into the shadows Mycroft was swallowed by the building's fluorescent lights.

* * *

In the meantime a heavy silence lingered in the car that Aaron drove towards the police station. On the backseat David and Duncan hadn't exchanged a word since they left the nightmarish trap. With adrenaline fading and immense worry taking over David found himself feeling exhausted.

All of a sudden Duncan chuckled. "You should see the look on your face, agent Rossi. How much would you give to be allowed to punch me? Or to kill me with your own hands?"

David gritted his teeth to keep quiet and looked away pointedly.

Duncan clicked his tongue. "Now that's just rude. I was only trying to start a nice conversation." There was a pause. "Aren't you even curious to hear how I pulled off it all?"

At that point David couldn't control his tongue anymore. "I don't care how", he snarled. "All that matters is that it's over and you'll spend the rest of your miserable life locked up."

Duncan – or well, whatever he wanted to be called at the moment – smiled in a way that would've made anyone shiver. "You're FBI-agents. Surely you've been taught not to jump into conclusions?" The man shifted barely visibly. "Because I'm not quite finished yet."

A second too late David realized that Duncan's handcuffs were open. And somehow there was a needle and a syringe in the psychopath's hold. He never had the time to warn Aaron.

Faster than a blink Duncan moved and shoved the needle through Aaron's skin, emptying the syringe's contents into the unit chief's bloodstream.

The contact was so sudden that it took Aaron a dangerously long moment to realize what happened. By the time he did there was nothing he could do. In a flash everything was spinning and swaying in his line of vision. The last thing he realized before the darkness came was that the car was no longer under his control. And the last thing he heard was David's shout of panic.

Five minutes later Aaron's cell-phone rang twice in the car wreckage. The first phone call was from JJ. The second one was from the hospital. None of the three unmoving people in the practically destroyed vehicle was able to pick up.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: What? Of course there was a one more trap. (winces) Soooo, how's everything going to end? Will everyone make it?

PLEASE, do leave a note! Was that any good, at all? You'll be the judges.

ONLY ONE MORE CHAPTER AND A EPILOGUE TO GO!

Until next time, you all! I truly hope that I'll see you at the next bit.

Take care!


	11. The Final Verdict

A/N: Surprise! It's a Saturday update this time. My Sunday's going to be full-packed and I didn't have the heart to make you wait the extra day. See, I CAN be nice sometimes! (chuckles) Next week it should be back to Sunday updates.

Awkay, before getting to the actual chapter… THANK YOU, so very much, for your reviews and support! This has been a lovely typing-ride and I'm thrilled that you've all taken it with me. So thank you! We've almost reached the finish line. (HUGS)

And now, without any further stalling… Let's go! I truly hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

The Final Verdict

* * *

/ _As soon as Spencer and Sherlock heard that something had happened to Alyssa they were running, not hesitating for even a second. Their hearts thundering at almost the exact same rhythm, worry and sheer terror driving them. Neither noticed that they didn't have any shoes on while they sped through the forest. And then, all of a sudden, they froze._

_Because there, by the shore, several adults were working on something or someone. Grim looks on their faces and most of them crying. Even the toughest men weren't able to conceal their tears. That's when one of them moved, allowing the children a clear visual to what was going on._

_Two of the men, one of them a camp director and the other a member of the search party, were giving Alyssa CPR. Yet she lay perfectly still, her face a horrible shade of white and her lips gaining a tinge of blue._

_Sherlock exploded instantly. The older boy screamed at the top of his lungs, putting up a mighty fight against the three adults attempting to drag him away. His shouts were raw and wounded._

_And Spencer… Spencer just stood there. Staring with wide, tear filled eyes. Shaking so badly that it was a miracle he remained upright and fast on his way to a state of shock. He wasn't aware enough to do a thing when one adult finally found enough wits to pick him up and carry him away._

_Although they were separated, Sherlock on his way home with his parents and brother, and Spencer in a hospital recovering from the shock and waiting for his father, the two boys made a similar decision. Their young minds were unable to handle what they'd just seen and the events that took place before that. So they deleted them all, buried them into the most distant corners of their minds from which the memories would hopefully never be found._

_Each other, Alyssa, the Orion's Belt, the camp… It all faded away. Became wiped blank._

_So when Alyssa tried to contact them, years upon years later, they didn't have the slightest clue of who she was. They didn't know until they encountered her for the last time. When that day came she was already truly dead and it was much too late to tell her all those things they would've wanted to say._ /

* * *

During his time as a dead man Sherlock had countless of nightmares about losing John. His subconscious seemed to be quite creative in coming up with horror scenarios of all the ways his blogger could die. Several times it was falling down a cliff into a waterfall, just like Alyssa. Alyssa's face kept changing places with John's quite a bit, actually. Those nightmares didn't end to his return.

And now he was living one of those horror stories.

Although not quite. The doctor treating John – _middle aged, bad skin problems, aggressive diabetes, cheating on his wife with another man, yet reasonably competent at his job_ – was quite secretive upon entering the room with suspicious looking substance that was injected to the former army doctor's blood stream. But apparently it was supposed to help. That was all the older doctor could tell. John wouldn't have been impressed with the way Sherlock handled such secrets being kept from him. The older doctor ran away with deathly pale face, only the influence of British government keeping him from calling the security at once. Did John frown in his unnaturally deep slumber at the sounds of it all?

_Well, one more reason to wake up_, Sherlock mused sullenly, entirely without remorse.

Sherlock had always been horrible at waiting. And in this case it was even worse. How was he supposed to just remain idle when…?!

In the end Sherlock glared at John, hard. He tried to ignore the stinging sensation that took over his eyes upon the discovery that there'd been no change. "Now, this is unacceptable", he informed the blogger sharply. "You've already slept long enough. So I'm expecting you to wake up soon, alright? Because this… This is hateful." There was so much more he would've wanted to say but for once his usually impressive vocabulary failed him entirely.

So he kept staring and staring at John, a steel hard expression on his face and never knowing of the few tears that escaped his irony hold. Stared, kept watch, waited. His hand never once losing its nearly desperate grip on John's.

He'd already lost one dear friend. Or two, because surely Redbeard counted. Even the thought of losing a third… It was unacceptable.

* * *

It took Spencer's mind a few moments to process that the hand stroking his hair was really there. Or was it? Was he just dreaming? Because he felt like he was floating, spinning around in emptiness.

"C'mon, Spencer", a familiar female voice murmured. He tried to recognize it but didn't have enough awareness for that. "Fight this, why don't you?

… _"… clear! …"_ …

"Show them all what you're made of."

… _"… fight it, kid! …"_ …

There was a hellish, burning wave of pain that seemed to consume his all and he would've given a lot if he'd been able to scream. It was being burned up alive, stabbed and shot at all combined. It repeated itself at least three times. And then he felt the gentle hand once more. "Shh… It's going to be okay. Just keep breathing and wake up."

Curiosity ushering him on beyond all else Spencer opened his eyes, just a little. It took his foggy, incoherent head a long time to process just what he was seeing. He frowned, trying to understand. Trying to figure out why the thing, the person, before his very eyes seemed so surreal.

His eye widened. It took a while before he dared to breathe out, his throat raspy and pained, raw. "… 'lyssa?"

Because somehow, impossibly, Alyssa Stiles was there, standing beside his hospital bed. The adult version of her, with a smile on her beautiful face. So alive that it made his head spin.

Spencer swallowed and regretted the action instantly. It hurt like hell. "Am I dying?" Because it sounded like the only reasonable explanation to why he was seeing a person who was supposed to be dead. Whose body he'd seen. Whom he'd been forced to lose twice.

Alyssa's smile had a sad undertone. "No, Spence. The opposite. You're finally waking up."

Spencer frowned. He felt lost and, if he was fully honest with himself, a little scared. "Then why…?" His voice died out there. _Why are you here?_ Of course he was thrilled to see her. He'd missed her, a lot, even when he'd attempted to erase her from his memories. But his question was justified, wasn't it?

Alyssa grinned and shrugged. "It's your subconsiousness that conjured me up, remember? So… You tell me."

And Spencer knew. A heavy feeling that had nothing to do with his physical condition settled on his chest with such force that he feared it might crush something. "Because I… I wanted to say goodbye", he rasped. Staring into her eyes with desperate intensity because he knew, with agonizing certainty, that he'd never, ever see them again. "And… I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. For forgetting. For not fighting harder."

"You two are impossible…" Alyssa shook her head, growing far more serious. "Stop talking nonsense or I'll smack you, got it? What happened… It was no one else's fault but Durbin's." She looked at him hard, clearly willing those words to burn right into his mind. "Stop feeling guilty over the fact that you survived. Stop carrying that weight on your shoulders. You and Sherlock both. You deserve so much more after surviving that hell."

Of course Spencer knew that it wasn't Alyssa, not really. But it sounded so much like her that it succeeded in bringing a hint of comfort. A faint, pale smile that held more than a bit of sadness appeared to his lips. "I'll miss you", he murmured before he realized that he thought it.

Alyssa chuckled. "You do realize that you just said that to the creation of your own mind, don't you? Quite arrogant."

Spencer's smile widened, just a little bit.

Clearly satisfied with her work Alyssa sighed. Then, after thinking about it for a second, leaned down and pressed her lips to his forehead. "It's time to wake up, now", she whispered.

Everything was swaying oddly. Was he falling deeper or getting closer to waking up? It was impossible to tell.

"And Spencer, promise me one thing? You and Sherlock… Live enough for all of us three."

* * *

John woke up to a immense, merciless headache. And to the sensation that he wasn't alone. Feeling a not quite healthy touch of curiosity he fought a small war, eventually managing to crack his eyes halfway open. Despite his physical discomfort what he found brought a small smile to his lips.

Sherlock was fast asleep on a chair that'd been dragged as close to his hospital bed as humanly possible. The detective's position didn't seem comfortable but the man looked like he hadn't slept in weeks so John didn't have the heart to wake him up. Surrendering to a crushing amount of fatigue John slipped back into sleep, feeling safer than ever in his life.

* * *

For the second time Spencer woke up to his hair being stroked. He frowned and the distant, beeping sound echoing in the background changed slightly. "… sa?"

"Reid?" The screeching sound wasn't anything overly loud but enough to startle him. The hand disappeared from his hair and surprisingly he missed it. Distancing steps could be heard, followed by the room's door opening and hushed words to someone. Then the steps walked closer once more. Someone slumped to a chair before fingers curled around his. "Hey, Spencer, open your eyes, sweetie."

With far more effort than it should've required Spencer realized that the voice wasn't Alyssa's. But it was familiar. He struggled, with all his might. And finally his eyelids began to flutter.

"Good", his companion praised. The hand's pressure on his grew a little bit. "You're doing great. Almost there…"

Everything was infuriatingly, horrifyingly blurry. For a while the beeping – _a heart monitor?_ – became jumpy and erratic. But slowly, with the comforting hold his companion had on him, his body and mind began to relax. In the meantime his vision was clearing gradually. Enough to eventually allow him a visual to Alex Blake's face.

First he smiled, utterly relieved. Then frowned at the sight of a nearly faded bruise on her temple. "… okay?" Good grief, his voice was nothing but a pathetic wheeze!

Miraculously enough Alex heard, though. Her eyes grew warm while she gave him a comforting smile. "I'm okay, I promise. Just a little bump to the head, is all. Trust me, you've got more than enough bruises of your own to worry about."

But Spencer couldn't relax. Not until he knew… "… others?"

Alex's eyes darkened, just a little, at that. More than enough to make his heart plummet into his stomach. She swallowed hard. "JJ and Garcia are fine. They're trying to control the media storm and anxious for news. Morgan's also doing pretty well. They're thinking about discharging him in a couple of days but I wonder if the staff can hold out until then." She inhaled deep. "I'm… telling you this because I know that you wouldn't give up until you'd fished it out. There… was a car crash. Duncan managed to inject Hotch with a strong sedative while he was driving and they sped off the road. Hotch lost quite a bit of blood and got bruised from head to toe but he's already up and about. Rossi's side of the car took most of the damage but he's hanging on tight. Of course it'd take more than a crash to take away someone that stubborn." Alex appeared utterly exhausted, still far more tense than she should've been but also relieved. Yet there were shadows hiding in her eyes.

Spencer tried to demand further information because her flimsy explanation didn't ease the sheer terror blowing inside him. "… 'in someth'…", was all that came out. Slowly yet inevitably he began to realize that perhaps his speech problems were more than just a scratchy throat.

And now that he thought about it… The right side of his body, the one Alex wasn't occupying, didn't feel quite right. He tried to move his leg. It barely twitched. His hand refused to move at all. The terror from before turned into complete, all consuming panic while he stared into Alex's eyes, pleading answers.

Alex gulped loudly. "Don't panic, alright? It's… It's going to be okay, I promise. We'll all be there for you." For a moment there seemed to be moisture in her eyes. "You've been unconscious for two weeks. Your body… It was without oxygen for several minutes. Afterwards the doctors spotted a blood clot. By then it'd already moved and caused a stroke." Her squeeze on his left hand became tighter. "You have hemiparesis on the right side of your body."

* * *

It was all a bit hazy afterwards. Spencer had a feeling that his damaged, barely functioning body went into a state of shock. That much would've made sense. There was a lot to take in.

The next time he became coherent there was a new presence in the room. The sound of paper rustling crawled into his consciousness and he turned his head, curious. Sure enough, Sherlock was sitting at his right, intently focused on a case file although the man's expression was unfazed.

"Mycroft is trying to lure me into taking a new case", the detective explained without glancing his way. Clearly having somehow sensed that he was awake. "Irritating. I've already told him that I'm not taking new ones yet." _Until John has recovered_, remained unvoiced. "And this is barely a three", the tall Brit scoffed, scandalized.

For Spencer it was a relief that he didn't seem to be expected to speak. He kept looking at Sherlock for a moment, taking in the fatigue and tension. So much emotional strain on a man who wasn't supposed to have a heart.

"Why?" he dared to try at last, hating his new voice.

Sherlock looked at him. The man's eyes were completely free of pity although he must've dug out Spencer's current condition. "John kicked me out when his doctor came in to discharge him." That certainly needed no further elaboration. The detective focused on the file once more. "But to answer your question… I came to make sure that I won't lose a third."

Spencer would've wanted to know what, exactly, those cryptic words meant. But for the time being he was more than satisfied with the companionable, easy silence that lingered between them. In the end tiredness got the better of him. By the time he woke up Sherlock was gone but there was a brief, hastily written note left for him.

'_I may need some help with a case, after all. Contact me when they let you out of this infuriating place. And remember that I prefer to text. S.H._'

Spencer smiled and for just that once didn't care if it came out all wrong.

* * *

Duncan Durbin also received three visitors.

The moment his eyes flew open, darting around rapidly, his mind's version of Samuel was there. Sneering down at him. "Well how about that. Good morning, sleepy head."

Out of instinct Duncan tried to speak. Wanted desperately to call out, to beg whoever was listening to give him something that'd chase the illusion away. But his lips didn't even quiver.

Panic struck through like wildfire. His heart monitor reacted instantly, the furious beeping becoming frantic. Duncan kept trying to open his mouth and when that didn't work he attempted to move his hands. He couldn't. And upon closer, borderline hysterical inspection he came to a absolutely mortifying realization.

He couldn't control even a single part of his whole body, couldn't do anything beyond blinking.

"It's called locked in syndrome", Samuel supplied. His brother's ghost sounded entirely too pleased. "That body of yours… It pulled a fast one on you. You'll never, ever move around again. Or speak. From this day forward only I will understand what you want to say."

It was a nightmare. Had to be. Duncan felt a couple of tears running down his cheeks but couldn't do a thing to wipe them away.

_This wasn't how it was supposed to end! This wasn't how it was supposed to end! THIS WASN'T HOW IT WAS SUPPOSED TO END!_

In the end a group of medical professionals came, finally alarmed by the riot his heart monitor was making. They offered absentminded soothing words, injected something. In a flash the world around him began to fall away.

The last thing he heard before the dark was Samuel's ice cold chuckling.

The second time Duncan woke up it was to sobbing. A female voice he'd never heard before sighed. "… very sorry, Mrs. Durbin. But the brain damage was too extensive. His condition is permanent." _His_. To these people Duncan wasn't even a human being, he could hear it from that tone of a voice.

Duncan must've fallen asleep or blacked out. Because all of a sudden the sobs were closer. A hand was squeezing his, so hard that it hurt. He wished that he would've been able to tell it to slacken, at least a little.

"I… I'm so sorry, Duncan", his mother whispered in a hopelessly broken, lost voice. Sounding so drained and miserable that it pained him. She was sitting so that he would've had to turn his head to see her. He wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not. "For not seeing. For not doing anything. For not protecting you, any of you. Now… Now I've lost…" She gasped, sounding as though she'd been drowning despite being on dry land. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."

'_Please, mom, stop crying…! It wasn't your fault. I swear! I'm sorry, too._'

Duncan would've given anything, absolutely anything, if he'd been able to comfort her. Even if the words and actions had been insincere. He wanted to hug her, whisper soothing nothings, give promises even if they were empty. But as it was he couldn't even cry. So he blinked on because it wa all he could do. Delivering a desperate morse code that no one noticed or understood.

It was impossible to tell how long passed. Days. Weeks. Months. Years. Time blurred together, became nothing more than a shapeless, incomprehensible and insignificant blob. Nurses and doctors came, and all the looks he received were full of either disgust or pity. '_You've deserved this_' could be read from several eyes.

His mother didn't visit again and Duncan tried hard not to wonder why. No one but the staff came, in fact, until one rainy evening the room's door opened and heavy steps entered. "They told me that you're a vegetable", a male voice he couldn't recognize informed in a eerily cheery tone. "But I just had to come and see it for myself. It sounded too good to be true."

His heart thudded but by some miracle them monitors didn't react. And then the arrival's face came to his line of vision. As did the frosty grin. It was a man of his age with stony brown eyes and a little overgrown hair of the same color, dressed as a police officer. "Hi, Samuel. Do you still remember me?"

'_No, I don't! I've never seen you in my life!_'

"Who do you imagine gave you the clues to help you avoid the police and the FBI for this long, hmm? It was sort of amusing to watch them running around and you imagining that nothing could go wrong. But this… This is definitely the best part." The arrival leaned closer. He smelled a trace of garlic. "So yeah, I gave Mycroft Holmes a little information on Moriarty. But that was no excuse for my wife and daughter to die. They were innocent!" The tear filled eyes held such rage and agony that it was palpable. "You thought that I was the one in that car when it blew up and killed them, didn't you? I'll make you wish that I had been. Because right now… Right now I could slaughter you and you wouldn't be able to lift a finger against me."

Duncan blinked rapidly, staring at the stranger. Desperate. Terrified.

It was bitter irony, really, that after pretending to be Samuel for so long he suddenly wanted to scream out his real name.

Or… Perhaps he didn't. The rest of his life in a prison that was his own body? Of… _this_? Maybe death would've been better.

The stranger smirked. "I could end your life, right here. But I won't. Because this is a far more justified punishment." With that the man turned around and began to walk away. "Goodbye, Samuel."

Finally the frantic, broken beat of Duncan's heart registered to his monitor. He wanted to scream, to roar, to tear everything to pieces. _Anything_ to unleash the hurricane blowing inside. But once again he couldn't even cry.

The only person who could've saved him from _this_ just condemned him into a eternity in hell and he didn't even know the man's name.

* * *

TBC, for an epilogue.

* * *

A/N: Oh man… That was sort of creepy. Poor Reid! And dare I say poor Duncan…? (Meh, maybe not.)

Sooo… How was that? Any good, at all? It'd be super cool if you dropped a line or two.

Dang, the time's running fast! I've gotta dash. For now, until next time, folks! I really hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!


	12. Epilogue

A/N: I'm baaaaaack! And for the last chapter, can you imagine? But first…

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for all your reviews! It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy to hear that you've enjoyed the ride. You guys are precious!

Awkay, because final chapters are always a bit unnerving… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the end of this journey.

* * *

Epilogue

* * *

It was amusing, really, how nervous John felt while he opened the door to his and Mary's apartment. He'd been abroad and there'd been Mycroft involved so Mary most likely didn't know _everything_ about his… misfortune. Which didn't change the facts that he'd been gone for almost three weeks and his recovery process was still very much incomplete. He felt like a five-year-old coming home for a lecture from their parent.

Mary was there, waiting for him, only five steps away from the doorway. Her suspiciously red and puffy eyes blazed with fury and something he'd never even seen before. "Almost three weeks, Watson!" she growled like a tiger about to attack. "You disappear to a different part of the world for almost three… bloody… weeks!"

John swallowed, unsure how good of an idea taking a step closer would be. "I… I'm sorry", he sputtered helplessly in the end. And with that he was left under her mercy.

Mary wiped her eyes. Visibly trying to calm down. "If I wasn't this bloody pregnant I would've flown there. What the hell were you thinking, imagining that text messages would be enough?"

John hadn't dared to call her in fear of his voice giving away his physical discomfort. But now wasn't the time or place to reveal that. Because right before his eyes tears started to stream down her cheeks. A flame of guilt lit up inside him. "Oi…!" Finally his mind was made up. He marched all the way to her and wrapped his arms around her as tightly as he could. "I… I'm okay." He definitely didn't want to add just how close to never being alright again he came. "So what's with this fuss?"

Mary swallowed loudly. "The bloody hormones. I hate them", she muttered. She buried her face to his shirt and held him almost possessively, somehow managing to avoid all his injuries. There was a one more, shuddering sob. "I just… I'm glad that you're home."

John swallowed thickly, tightening his hold on her just a little. And counted his blessings. "So am I", he sighed.

"Shut up. I'm still pissed off at you."

A few hours later, while Mary was watching over John who was fast a sleep safely in their bed, she shivered slightly at the sound of a text message reaching her cell phone. She frowned and made sure that John's much needed rest hadn't been disturbed, then checked the message. It was from Sherlock.

'_Thank you._'

* * *

Exactly nine hours, thirteen minutes and forty-six seconds later Mary went into labor. After twenty-two more hours of panic, pain, stiffled chuckles, death threats, glares and hell a lot of screaming a baby girl was born. In John's opinion she was the most beautiful baby that had ever been born.

It wasn't a surprise that somehow Sherlock materialized into the room less than half an hour after the birth although neither of the new parents had found the time or energy to let anyone know.

It felt very right, with the four of them there. Mary fighting sleep, the baby making adorable little sounds while slumbering, John far too hyped to even think about resting and Sherlock just standing there, his expression unreadable.

"So…", John started. Almost carefully. "We've been thinking about names. And before you can suggest it again, Sherlock is definitely off the table."

The detective frowned. The man's eccentric eyes stared at the baby like she'd been a piece of evidence or an experiment that had to be explored. "What are you naming her, then?"

John glanced towards Mary, who nodded, then focused on his best friend. "We… were thinking about Alyssa Willow Watson. Does that sound acceptable to you?"

It was fortunate, really, that Mary was so absorbed by the baby that she didn't see the look that John and Sherlock exchanged. It was full of understanding and acceptance. "Yes", Sherlock announced eventually, then cleared his throat when his voice broke. "It sounds acceptable."

* * *

Quite soon after he woke up it became clear to Spencer that he wouldn't get to go back home soon. And that the road to recovery wouldn't be easy. His wounds and broken bones were on a promising road to mending. But the right side of his body still refused to listen to his commands.

Weeks blurred together so in the end he wasn't entirely sure how long he spent in a hospital. As soon as the acute danger was over he was transferred to Virginia. That much was a relief, especially when he learned that everyone of his team but David had already been discharged. Once the hospital period ended he was transferred to a rehabilitation center, where he was to start his journey back to walking, writing and talking.

That road certainly wasn't easy or smooth. Having to learn all those basic skills all over again was incredibly frustrating, especially when his mind was functioning clearly and eager to get back to how things used to be. He'd never been exactly the most physical man but when even something as simple as convincing his leg to rise an inch required a tremendous amount of effort… Well, that was simply infuriating.

And then, on top of all else, there was the emotional recovery. The re-surfaced memories of the camp's nightmare and Alyssa. Having to handle all _that_ again. Being captured, the lives of everyone he cared about being threatened. Almost dying. Or well, technically dying. Every loud sound and every shadow startled him, brought him back to pitch black moments. His mind and body were in a constant stress. The worst part of it was that he was barely able to express how he felt when for once in his life he would've wanted help. He grieved the loss of mobility, the loss of life as he'd known it, all the things he'd most likely never do again and he even grieved Alyssa's unfair faith all over again, aside his own and Sherlock's. He unleashed all that in the only way he could. There were a lot of horribly dark, hopeless days when he closed into himself. Refused to do anything, lashed out at anyone who dared to approach him the best as he was able to, felt so tempted to just let himself sink that it was terrifying.

But Alex kept her word and as it turned out he didn't have to go through the whole turmoil alone. By miracle his friends – family – refused to leave his side through it all. At first Penelope, Alex and JJ kept visiting him as often as cases allowed them to. Then, quite quickly, Derek and Aaron joined the circle. Finally David appeared as well, still hobbling around on crutches but obviously on his way towards being better. Inevitably his room at the rehabilitation centre became filled by stuffed animals, photographs, cards and tiny notes of encouragement.

One of the physical therapists, a stunningly beautiful woman of his age with long blonde hair and the most amazing pair of blue eyes he'd ever seen, smiled at the sight. "You have an amazing family", she stated.

Spencer couldn't help but agree.

Weeks and months bled together. Until one day the usual group brought in a visitor Spencer hadn't known to expect. He knew that something was going on the moment he saw the look on JJ's face. "There's… a special someone who's missed his favorite profiler a lot. Do you think you're up to meeting him?"

Spencer's heart jumped, right there. Was he really ready to meet Henry? What if he'd end up startling the child? But his mouth was, stunningly enough, faster than his head. "Yeah."

JJ disappeared and in a few moments Henry stood by the room's doorway, next to the team. The child looked at him with clearly visible hesitation. Spencer realized, in a stunned flash, that instead of his appearance or the environment the child was afraid of hurting him. So he did the one thing he could. He smiled and motioned with his left hand.

In a flash Henry was embracing him astonishingly tightly and the room fell into a familiar, comfortable chatter. Spencer watched them all, listened to them talking happily and slipped in an occasional comment whenever he could. Savoured the sensation of having his family right there, beside him. Of being alive. And although there was miles of recovery ahead and his future was full of uncertainty he felt oddly lucky.

* * *

_Two years later_

* * *

When Sherlock announced that he wanted to visit Alyssa's grave Mycroft had to bite his tongue to keep himself from announcing that it was a very bad idea. When Sherlock subtly implied that he'd planned on not being the only visitor Mycroft was ready to deem it a disaster. But the fact that Sherlock was, clearly reluctantly and trying to disguise his true intentions, asking for his help was enough to make him hold his tongue.

And, as the government official discovered after a long and tedious flight, perhaps the mighty Mycroft Holmes made the first misjudgement in his life.

There at the grave stood a man glad into a long, black coat that seemed suspiciously familiar, his unnaturally straight, tense form supported by a cane. Mycroft frowned, then recognized. With careful eyes he took in SSA Dr. Spencer Reid's appearance.

The agent's body's right side clearly still wasn't functioning properly but it was dramatically better than when he issued his latest check up. The man was still pale and appeared exhausted but had at least managed to regain a tiny portion of the weight he'd lost after the… well. There was no mistaking the fire burning in those hazel eyes – Sherlock's had similar.

Just like Sherlock Spencer had been beaten down several times. According to Mycroft's subtle digging there were times when both geniuses had fallen victims to the same unhealthy coping mechanism. But they'd refused to stay down. Time after time they pushed themselves up from the rubbles of their lives, like Phoenix birds. Warriors, both of them, although Mycroft would've never admitted it out loud to his brother.

And now they stood there side by side, saying goodbye and preparing to start again once more.

Mycroft kept a subtle distance, because for some reason people seemed to appreciate such, but remained just close enough to hear what was being said. He watched how both men placed a single white dahlia to the grave. "Her favorite", Sherlock murmured scarcely audibly. There was something oddly strained on his face and in his voice.

Spencer glanced towards his friend. The agent remained thoughtfully silent for a couple of moments until the words came out. "We won't forget her again." The American pointed towards the bandage wrapped around his right wrist. "We made sure. Remember?"

Sherlock nodded. The Brit didn't speak. But Mycroft also couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his brother's shoulders relax the way they did there.

The two of them were quiet for a long time. Simply stared at the stone, somehow seeming to find comfort from one another. Let it all wash over them.

"It's over, now", Sherlock murmured at last.

Spencer nodded, wiping his cheek clumsily with his not quite fully functioning right hand. "Yeah", the agent declared. "It is." The man then glanced at the detective, a great deal of warmth in his eyes. "Thanks, for coming here today. It's… not easy."

Sherlock merely nodded. A few more minutes passed by in a pleasant, thoughtful silence until the detective seemed to consider taking his leave. Spencer wasn't about to let his brother slip away that easily, though. "Sherlock." What followed would've been lost on Mycroft if he hadn't been able to read lips. "If you ever have another danger night… I'm only a text message away."

Sherlock nodded stiffly. The detective seemed to consider carefully before speaking again. "I'll see you soon." And the Brit seemed to actually mean it. "Take care of yourself."

Spencer smiled. The younger man seemed to understand something that Mycroft couldn't. "You, too."

With that the two friends parted. Headed towards the opposite directions, yet both knowing that it was by no means a goodbye. Somehow the realization made Mycroft feel warm inside.

_Foolish sentiment._

The Holmes brothers made their way to Mycroft's car in a silence. It wasn't until they'd sat the older brother spoke. "So… Are you ready to go home, now?"

Sherlock's fingers brushed absentmindedly at his right wrist. Mycroft knew, even though he hadn't seen, that there was a bandage hidden. "Yes", his brother murmured, staring out the window. For once there was no hostility or insult in the younger Holmes' voice. "I'm ready to go home."

Mycroft nodded. "Alright, then." This time he actually believed his brother. Because while the light and shadows moved as the car began to crawl forward he noticed the change in those eyes.

For the first time since the camp there were no shadows hiding in Sherlock's eyes, for the first time they were free.

Sherlock was firmly lost in his Mind Palace when Mycroft's cell phone chimed, announcing the arrival of a new text message. He glanced down and wasn't surprised. It was John.

'_Is he alright?_'

Mycroft glanced towards his brother once more. Sherlock seemed just about ready to fall asleep. The Ice Man was blissfully unaware of the trace of a smile that touched his lips.

'_He will be._'

What Mycroft didn't know was that Sherlock was quite in tune with the present world. Or well, almost. The detective's eyes were staring absentmindedly at the trees that bathed in sunlight. Right there, from the car's open window, he could've sworn that the sound of Alyssa's laughter carried to his ears. And he gave a small, secret smile, only meant for him and her.

Not too far away Spencer was beyond relieved to be able to slump into a car. His right leg was growing stronger but it was in no way able to handle prolonged physical activity. He sighed with satisfaction, rubbing the limb with his good hand.

"Are you okay?" Derek's familiar voice came instantly from the driver's seat.

Spencer nodded. And meant it. "Just a bit sore."

"Not what I meant, kid."

Spencer glanced towards the graveyard. There was still intense longing in his chest. But finally no guilt or wrenching pain. "I will be", he promised.

As the vehicle kept moving Spencer looked backwards once more, for the last time. What he saw made him blink twice. Just to make sure that he'd seen correctly.

There, nearby where her grave located, Alyssa stood watching him go with a smile on her face.

The illusion faded away in between the blinks. Still it left a unclear warmth into Spencer's chest. And he found himself smiling as well.

Both men, survivors, were subconsciously poking on their bandaged wrists. There was a identical tattoo on both. Still hidden from everyone who didn't need to know, wouldn't understand.

Imprinted on both their skins was the Orion's Belt.

* * *

**_End._**

* * *

A/N: You know, for some reason it feels WEIRD to imagine that this story is suddenly over. (sighs) I'm really going to miss this, which probably means that there's another crossover fic in the horizon…

Soooo… How's that for an ending? Any good, at all? PLEASE, do let me know! It'd feel super good to hear from you.

THANK YOU, so very much, for sticking with me throughout this journey! I've LOVED typing this fic and your love for this lil' fic's been a cherry on the top. So thank you! For me, at least, it's been a fantastic ride. (HUGS)

Bye, at least for now, folks! And who knows. Maybe I'll be typing with you again one day.

Take care!


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